


Epilogue of Idle Hearts

by Demeanor



Category: The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: But for now just Thanksgiving, Daryl's first Thanksgiving, Future Molestation, Lots of romantic tension, M/M, Psychological Torture, Season 3 arc, Slow Burn, Torture, Woodbury, sweet and fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 119,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demeanor/pseuds/Demeanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanksgiving is just a few days away, Daryl is acting distant and walled off, and Rick is conflicted when he finds himself seeking more than just Daryl's companionship. It's considerably the worst possible time for a town, outfitted with people and guns, to butt heads with them. </p>
<p>Dark themes, torture, angst abound, and ridiculous amounts of fluff constitute this very long, very slow building fic about two men surviving hell. I can't write summaries well, but I hope you enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hostility

.:Hostility:. 

Rick was freezing.

He was sitting on a patch of overturned soil with an old hoe at his feet, sweat dripping from his face and hair and causing him to shiver slightly as he scanned the field of the prison. Marvelling at their renovations of the field, he drew an old rag from his front pocket and dabbed at his face, sweat falling into his facial hair. There was a chill in the air setting with the sun, and the world was almost peaceful save for the grunting and grumbling of the walkers lined up against the fence.

A sudden whistle drew his head up, eyes scanning for the source just beyond the gate. The small group of walkers, too, turned to leer at the burly hunter emerging from the forest and began shambling towards him.

Rick promptly rose and pocketed his rag, patting some of the moist soil from his backside as he made towards the gate. He watched Daryl easily dispatch three walkers that came too close for comfort as Rick yanked the cable from the chain link fence to open it for the other man, who quickly ducked through. As the hunter straightened himself out, Rick eyed the two quail hanging from his belt and began threading the coil through the chain in the fence.

“Not bad,” Rick nodded towards the poultry. “Carol’s gonna be happy.”

The scowl that Rick received in return was torrid. “It ain’t much.” His tone was just as biting.

Rick’s brow knitted at his companion’s icy state. “It ain’t canned. S’more than we’ve had to say in weeks, almost.”

Daryl turned his narrow eyes away from him, upper lip curling defensively. “If y’all so impatient, get yer own damn food.” Shaking his greasy bangs in front of his eyes, Daryl adjusted his crossbow and started walking towards the prison, back turned to Rick. Rick watched him go for a moment, broad shoulders hunched, the quail bouncing from his belt, and was left bewildered at the man’s mood. Shaking his head, he trotted after Daryl’s agitated form, glistening gold from the setting sun.

“Hey,” he called up to Daryl, who slowed at the summon but didn’t turn to face him. These moods of his came and went quickly enough and were less frequent than earlier that year, but Rick hated them just the same. He was determined to find the cause for the other’s disquiet.

“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” Rick tried. As he fell in step with him, Daryl glanced at Rick’s searching gaze before turning his head away to spit. Rick rolled his eyes and turned to walk backwards in front of Daryl, forcing him to make eye contact, and tried again.

“Listen, ain’t nobody making you go out there every day,” Rick urged, stopping firmly in front of him. Not looking up, Daryl nearly ran into him and raised his squinted eyes to Rick’s.

“You think so?” Daryl challenged.

Rick had no idea where this truculent attitude came from, but he remained unwavering. “I do.”

Daryl scoffed and tried to walk past Rick, but the older man shifted to keep him from walking away. Their faces were almost touching as each man waited for the other to back down, and Rick was bitterly reminded of power struggles like this from when the two first met and Daryl was more of a wild card. He hated to think that something in the hunter had brought him back to his combative self -- he really liked the prudent man Daryl had become.

“Daryl,” he whispered, watching his breath ruffle the other man’s long, sweaty locks. Daryl was looking down, but making no move to press forward. “I don’t know what’s got you this worked up, but it’s almost Thanksgiving. This is the happiest everyone’s been since the farm, and --”

“And what?” said Daryl abruptly, lashing out and eyes blazing. He stuck his chin up defiantly, pushing Rick back slightly. “Don’t screw it up for er’ybody? Don’t ruin their little _party? _That what you were gonna say?”__

__The irate man tried to roughly shoulder past his leader, but Rick stopped him with a heavy hand on his bicep. “No. I was sayin’ that I want you happy, too.”_ _

__In that moment, Daryl had enough decency to appear first shocked, then sheepish. Humble wasn’t an emotion that stayed on Daryl’s face for long, though, and he quickly looked away and shook out of Rick’s now tender grip to step past him, clenching the strap of his crossbow slung over his shoulder._ _

__“Whatever, man. S’all just a shitshow ‘n you know it,” Daryl huffed as he mounted the steps to the door of the prison two at a time. “There ain’t no _Thanksgivin’ _no more. No _pumpkin pie _. No goddamn _casserole _. Shit, man, what do we have to be thankful for anyway?”_______ _

________Daryl looked back at Rick as he said it, a deep sadness in his voice that Rick rarely ever heard, and left without waiting for an answer. He kept the door open for the other man, but was gone by the time Rick entered the prison hallway. Rubbing a soil-dusted hand through his hair, Rick sighed -- it had been a long time since Daryl was this moody, and with Thanksgiving less than two weeks away, it was the last thing Rick wanted to deal with._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________~~~~~_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Rick entered the main room of the prison just as Daryl threw the two quail on the counter where Carol was opening beans. The woman looked up in surprise at him, but quickly smiled and thanked him. She looked as though she made to say more, but Daryl just grunted at her in response and turned away, stopping when he spotted Rick in the doorway. Rick just nodded at him and stepped aside for him to storm through, all eyes on Daryl’s retreating form, then Rick’s exhausted face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Sighing, Rick stepped down the few steps into the dining area where Axel, Oscar, Carol, Beth, and Judith all converged, acknowledging each of them but pausing at Carol’s inquisitive face. He looked away and placed a hand on his baby’s brow, smiling down at her fondly and greeted them all._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Sup,” said Oscar._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Hey, man,” Axel greeted._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Rick nodded at both of them, sitting down next to Judith and Beth. To Beth, he said, “How is she?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“She’s as hungry as always,” Beth giggled, bouncing Judith a bit. “Thanks to Daryl, though, she won’t be starving any time soon.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“That goes for all of us,” Carol noted as she served lukewarm beans to the three others around the table. Axel and Oscar dug in immediately, but Beth was too immersed in making faces and bouncing Judith to be bothered._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Homes’ got a pretty big heart, don’t he?” Oscar said as he shovelled in beans. “Wouldn’t know it just by lookin’ at ‘im.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Axel agreed, bits of beans decorating his moustache. “You’da thought he belonged in here with Thomas at first, but he ain’t so bad, not really.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You say that ‘til you get on his bad side,” Rick smirked, thinking back to his earlier dispute with the man in question._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Oscar swallowed his mouthful. “Yeah, man, I’d hate to be on the other side of that bow again. He’s like a damn Robin Hood with that thing.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Carol puffed as she sat down next to Axel, a steaming mug warming her hands. “Pffft, I think Robin Hood showered a little more than Daryl does. If anything, he’s more like Little John in that sense.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Does that make Rick Robin Hood, then?” Beth chirped up, laughter in her words._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Rick blanched. “Don’t let Daryl hear you say that. ‘Sides, I’d hardly call us his band of Merry Men.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Carol snorted at that and Beth was giggling again. Axel, however, was gawking as he put down his spoon and cup of beans. “Y’all got them book smarts.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They conversed lightly as they finished their scant meals and eventually Axel and Oscar departed. Beth was cradling a now sleeping Judith, which Rick watched with a melting heart. He hardly noticed as Carol grabbed the dirty dishes around the table and stood up, only looking to her when she cleared her throat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Will you, uh, come help me with something, Rick?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Rick nodded, hearing that something was up by the sound of her voice, and departed Judith with a scruffy kiss on her head. Beth huffed as Judith stirred from his facial hair and scolded Rick teasingly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“What’s up?” Rick asked Carol when they were out of listening distance from Beth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Did something happen out there?” Carol asked, worry etching her mousey face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Rick looked down, figuring that this is what had been bothering her, and shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. He came back all sore as hell over something and just stormed away. Can’t say he was acting right before he went off, neither.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Carol sighed, her hands wringing aimlessly at a dishrag, twisting it into mindless shapes of concern. “Yeah, he hasn’t been acting like himself for a few days now. Storming about the place, slamming cell doors. He won’t talk to me about a darn thing lately, and I think he’s starting to worry people.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Oh yeah? Who?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Rick winced and ran his hands down his face heavily. “Maybe. He just, he got in my face, just like he used to. He’s agitated. I’ve been giving him space, but that just seems to piss him off more.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Carol smiled softly, face colored with sympathy, and reached out her hand to offer Rick the dishrag she had been fidgeting with. “I think we’ve all been there before with Daryl. But I’m worried about him, too, Rick. It’s not like him to leave every day to hunt, not anymore anyway. Can you try talking to him again?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Me? He ain’t even around long enough for me to try.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You’re the only one he’ll listen to,” Carol reasoned, tone gentle and teasing. “Believe me, it almost makes me jealous sometimes.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She grinned and swatted at him playfully as he wiped the dirt from his hands with the rag. Rick smiled back, but his thoughts were elsewhere -- how to get through to his walled off companion. He thought back to their conversation earlier -- _well, confrontation, really, _he corrected himself -- and any clues Daryl had accidentally let slip.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Daryl was always guarded; he hardly spoke and when he did, it always felt very measured and careful. The man was a damn mystery to most of their group, and very rarely let his true emotions or intentions show through. As a leader, Rick abhorred this aspect of the hunter, hated having to spend so much time cracking the code that was Daryl. However, the cop in Rick loved the challenge, the chase, that created his friend’s psyche. It was the hardest puzzle of a man Rick had ever had the pleasure of dealing with, yet the few times Rick managed to chip away the man’s exterior and find his true self underneath were of the most rewarding moments of Rick’s immediate life._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Hell, maybe even his whole life, not just after the world went to shit._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________As he relived their previous interaction, Rick started to methodically piece together the Daryl enigma and created the very premise of a theory. What’s more, he started to think of a way to broach this sensitive topic with a man who seemed like he’d rather wrestle with walkers than discuss his feelings._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Rick looked up at Carol, who was still waiting for his answer with pleading eyes. At the very least, Rick knew he couldn’t let down this sweet woman who could never catch a break in her life. The least she deserved was a happy Thanksgiving._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Exhaling he said, “Wish me luck, then,” before heading off towards the A Block cells._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________~~~~~~_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Rick mounted the stairs to the upper level cells loudly enough so that any brooding hunter moping in his solitude would hear him coming. The last thing Rick wanted was to sneak up on Daryl, not that he wholly believed he could, or have the man think he was lurking around the catwalk for some reason or another. The mood Daryl was in left Rick cautious on how to approach him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Reaching the end of the cell block, with so much space between this cell and any other occupied cell, Rick rapped his knuckle against the cold steel bars of Daryl’s room. The man himself was sprawled out on the bottom bunk of the tiny inmate cot, one arm dangling to the ground and the other draped across his eyes. At Rick’s knocking, he peaked up past his forearm and scowled when he saw who it was. Like it would have been anyone else daring to confront him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Howdy, neighbor,” Rick tried lightly, stepping in._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“I ain’t got no damn sugar if that’s what yer wantin’,” Daryl growled back, covering his face again. Rick tried to hide his smile; Daryl’s tone might have been unapproachable, but him playing along was reason enough for Rick not to bolt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Not even for me?” he teased gently._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Daryl scoffed, lips twitching slightly upwards. “‘Specially not fer you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“You pain me,” Rick said sarcastically, clutching his heart and walking over to the side of the cot. He was close enough to hear Daryl mutter “good” snidely under his breath, and reached up to lean his forearms against the top bunk, careening slightly over Daryl’s prone figure. Daryl, apparently able to feel how close the other man had gotten, shot up and on to his elbows, coiled tight and peering up at Rick suspiciously with his glacial eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Rick wondered at the reaction, but wasn’t exactly surprised by it. Daryl hated anyone being in his personal space, but that was precisely Rick’s goal at the moment – to get the man uncomfortable enough that he slipped up. It didn’t exactly make him feel honest or upright, but it was an effective technique in his past life at getting perpetrators to negligently spill details without realizing it. Rick hesitated upon this mentality -- was he really treating Daryl as some menial criminal?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Sighing, Rick straightened so he wasn’t looming over the man anymore. There was no reason for his friend, best friend even, to find him overtly threatening. His drive to unravel this man to his core was in no way worth further alienating him. The poor guy seemed to feel estranged from the day he and Rick met._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Daryl was clearly on edge still, even without Rick hovering over him. “Something wrong, _Officer? _” he snapped.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Just wondering what’s going on s’all,” Rick admitted honestly, feeling a bit put out that his friend was acting so much like his past self. Daryl snorted. “You’re puttin’ walls up again, Daryl. Thought we were past all this.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Ain’t puttin’ up nothin’,” he muttered, fidgeting around until his back was propped against the wall. He picked at a hole in his tattered jeans idly, staring at nothing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Doesn’t seem like nothin’.” Rick took that moment to crouch down so that his face was level with Daryl’s, ducking his head to try and meet the other man’s gaze. “You know we appreciate everything you do for us, right?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Still picking at loose threads in his frayed jeans, Daryl didn’t respond and simply clenched and unclenched his jaw. He almost looked like a child getting scolded for throwing a tantrum, Rick mused, watching Daryl work his jaw muscles testily. “Is that what this is? You think we aren’t _grateful? _” Rick ventured, recalling how Daryl argued that they had nothing to be grateful for. “Heck, Daryl, we wouldn’t have survived last winter without you.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________If Rick had learned anything of this man in their past year’s worth of company, it was that Daryl could be incredibly emotional and sensitive despite his brash exterior. It wasn’t something most of their group got to see, so Rick tried to always be mindful of it when dealing with him. He was trying in this moment to tread lightly so he didn’t ride roughshod and trample Daryl’s feelings, so Rick was surprised when Daryl shook his head jerkily._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“S’ not that,” Daryl was looking away now, chewing on his bottom lip._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Rick’s eyebrows rose. “You wanna tell me what it is, then?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Daryl’s cold blue eyes darted to Rick’s face, lip curled back in a sneer. “Thought you had to read me my rights before questioning me, officer.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Letting out an exasperated sign, Rick dropped his forehead against the stale mattress of the cot and closed his eyes. “Don’t keep doin’ this, Daryl. Pushing everyone out. I just… I want to help you. We all do; Carol, Hershel, Carl -- ”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“You really wanna help?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Looking up from the mattress, Rick saw a strange look on Daryl’s face. It seemed so misplaced in the hunter’s usually stoic, self-assured eyes that Rick had trouble even grasping that Daryl could possibly feel so… unsure. A guarded vulnerability had softened Daryl’s usually sharp and confident features and it made Rick’s heart clench curiously. He didn’t like seeing this man so timorous, like he was expecting Rick to just laugh in his face for considering his help. It was all Rick could do to nod his head slowly, hoping to erase some of this new uncertainty brewing in Daryl’s mind._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Yeah, Daryl. I really do.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Daryl’s face became reserved and calculating again, watching Rick. “I’m going on a hunt again in two days,” Daryl spoke, words slow and measured. Silence followed after, like he assumed Rick knew where he was going with it and had left it at that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Okay…?” Rick prompted, not knowing how going on yet another hunt would help Daryl. The man fled to the forest numerous times a week when he wasn’t planning runs into town._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Come with me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Rick couldn’t help his brows knitting in surprise at the offer. The two men had gone on hunts together only a small handful of times, and Rick couldn’t fathom how his hunting skills could help Daryl. The man was a damn David Boone compared to him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“‘Less you think tending to some garden all day sounds better,” Daryl smirked. “Not like you don’t do that shit e’eryday anyway.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Smiling, Rick shrugged half-heartedly. “Reckon I could let Carl take over for a few hours.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Might be more ‘n a few hours.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Unable to tell if the other man was joking or not, Rick clasped Daryl’s forearm and stood up, wincing when his back cracked. “So long as it gets you outta this funk.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Not gonna be any help out there if you keep popping like that, old man,” Daryl finally cracked a half-smile, eyes squinted humorously. Rick glared back but was satisfied by Daryl finally acting like himself enough to make his leave._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Rolling his shoulders, Rick turned towards the cell door. “I’ll make sure to stretch before then, punk.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Rick was practically out the cell door, feeling the matter finally settled, when Daryl’s voice stopped him in the hallway. “We’re leaving at sunrise.” It was an unspoken rule, practically common sense amongst the group that Daryl left at sunrise for each hunt, but the uncertainty in his voice had returned and caused Rick to look back at him. The hunter had scooted to sit on the edge of the mattress and was watching Rick, face plagued with that strange and foreign softness._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Gazing into the other man’s face, Rick felt his heart clenching almost painfully again and nodded in assent before leaving the cell, running away from that haunting look. Running away from the damn near crushing sensation he felt in his heartstrings at Daryl’s soft and tormented words._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Come with me. _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Breathable

.:Breathable:.

It was almost unsettling that the indomitable spirit which composed that of Daryl Dixon had suddenly become so unsure of itself. This monolith of a man, what was essentially the ever-present anchor of the group, was unhinging himself at something tumultuous inside, some inner turmoil that he never leaked to the group.

If Rick had to guess at the source of this man’s atrophy, he would bet his cleanest pair of socks that it had something to do with his volatile past. The younger man was more forthcoming with hugs than he was with sharing his life from before the turn, and Rick had never seen the man willingly hug anyone. That pain in his chest throbbed at the thought. The very few, very tiny tidbits of information Rick managed to glean from the other man left him with an acrid taste in his mouth, not unlike from before when he’d get calls reporting child abuse or abandonment.

Shaking his head, Rick tried to rid himself of that hollow feeling. Rick was vehemently protective over everyone in the group, as they were all well aware, but that innate sense of preserving one’s own was hardly ever needed by Daryl, as much as he was included in it. Daryl was strong, a bulwark in his own right that Rick would fight to the death for but was never particularly called upon. Instead, it often seemed as though their roles were reversed and Daryl was in fact the one keeping Rick safe at all costs.

Pondering their separate bearings on the group, Rick almost didn’t notice Carol’s timid form approaching him.

“Hey,” he greeted, smiling.

She smiled back, though it hardly reached her eyes. “Did you talk to him?”

Rick nodded and continued walking, knowing she would fall in step next to him.

“Well?”

“He asked me to go on a hunt with him.”

“That’s it?” she almost sounded disappointed, as if she expected more of a resolution after all of Daryl’s storming around.

“That’s it,” Rick affirmed with a shrug.

“Well, when are you going?” They were headed towards the dining area again. It seemed to be where Carol was most comfortable.

“Two days from now. Didn’t say why or how long, but I’m gonna have to ask Carl to tend to the potatoes if we want any by Thanksgiving,” Rick said, opening their food cupboard when they arrived.

Carol dropped the subject and leaned back against sink, staring out towards the cell block with a small smile upon her lips. After a few moments of silence passed, she said, “I still can’t believe we’re celebrating Thanksgiving. We all thought Beth was joking when she brought it up a couple weeks ago.”

Still looking at different cans, Rick remembered back to when the date first came up. Beth had insisted on keeping track of time, saying that it was important to hold on to something that had meant so much to them in the past. Rick remembered also feeling like it had been said in bad taste, not really seeing the point of such an ostentatious holiday in such bleak circumstances.

But that’s exactly the point, she had said. Wide eyed and breathlessly giddy, she tried to appeal to every last one of them -- Hershel because this was one of the few things he could do to see his daughter so alive with excitement, Maggie because this would be her and Glenn’s first official family dinner, Axel and Oscar because they hadn’t gotten to celebrate Thanksgiving in years, and ultimately Rick, who couldn’t say ‘no’ to how captivated Carl was getting by the idea of normalcy -- until eventually everyone was on board.

Almost everyone.

Beth had scampered over to Daryl’s sulking form leaning against an inconspicuous wall, trying desperately to make him see the value in saying grace and revelling as a family for just one day. His only response was to scoff and leave without another word, much to Beth’s dismay.

Ever since, most of the prison was constantly in a festive and jovial mood, with the occasional heavy footfalls or slamming doors to remind them of the one partypooper among them. Hershel was planning with Rick the different vegetables they could grow in time for their holiday cornucopia of food, wanting to surprise his daughters with some homegrown produce instead of simply a canned dinner. Glenn and Maggie were commandeering runs into towns for supplies in Daryl’s constant and consistent absence. Beth was making decorations with their very limited resources whenever she wasn’t holding Judith, and everyone else was trading old Thanksgiving stories back and forth.

Nostalgia was palpable and thick in the air and for most of them, it was a pleasant, refreshing feeling.

It hadn’t been for Rick.

“Sick joke,” Rick muttered, more to himself than to Carol, not even seeing the cans in his hand anymore.

She turned to look at him inquisitively. “You’re not excited?”

At this point, Rick was just turning various cans round in his hands and shrugged in response, detached. “You are?”

Her barking laugh sounded bittersweet, almost forced, in Rick’s ears. “Well, this is the first Thanksgiving in years I’ve had where I don’t have to worry about Ed watching every little thing I do. ‘Cause of that, I bet this’ll be the best darn meal I’ve ever cooked. I don’t even know how I ever managed to carve the turkey with how bad my hands were always shaking.”

Rick grinned with her, not quite knowing what to say in return. Whenever Carol brought up her late husband, everyone fell quiet -- Rick thought it was because they all turned the other cheek whenever Ed had been terrorizing her.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that anymore -- ”

“But this is also my first Thanksgiving without Sophia,” Carol interrupted and quickly wiping away the beginnings of a tear before it could form, smile looking fragile. “And yours without Lori. Daryl’s without his brother, awful as he might have been, and even Hershel and the girls. We’ve all lost somebody this past year.”

Mouth dry from hearing Lori’s name, Rick set the can down harder than he had intended. It shook Carol out of her tight coil and she reached over and placed a hand on Rick’s, trying to sooth him. It wasn’t very effective.

“We need this,” quivered Carol. “All of us, Rick. This new world we live in, without our loved ones, it’s not a good world but it’s the only one we have.”

Rick was looking at her now, eyes hard, and feeling that usual stiffness in his bones whenever Lori rose to his conscience. She seemed aware of his change in composure but continued anyway, squeezing his hand.

“The people we have now are the only ones we get to have anymore. So no, I don’t get to break the wishbone with my daughter anymore, but I might get to peel potatoes with Axel, or - or sing with Beth at dinner, o-or…” she broke off, face crumpling, and let go of Rick’s hand to press hers to her face.

Rick watched this sweet woman’s fleeting strength leave her to deteriorate into a mess in front of him and he swallowed his ire, unclenched his muscles. The whites in his knuckles disappeared, as did the red in his vision, as he wrapped his arms around Carol’s thin frame. As changed of a person as she was, she very rarely seemed to know what to do with her strength when she managed to find it, and Rick knew this was more important than chasing a ghost in his mind.

“I know, I get it,” he started, clearing his throat. “This dinner’s more about grieving than it is celebrating.”

“No,” she stopped him. “It’s about moving on.”

~~~~~~

Rick couldn’t fathom why Daryl would ask him of all people to aid in a hunt, but certainly wasn’t complaining -- he had grown quite weary of the hunter going to any length to avoid him and the rest of the group. Rick hadn’t even seen Daryl coddling Judith much these past two weeks and normally the two were inseparable.

The two days that Daryl had planned for had come to pass and Rick found himself awake and excited, pacing the confines of the cell for the sun to rise. Since the announcement of Thanksgiving, Rick hadn’t left the prison grounds once and instead opted to accept Hershel’s guidance in growing crops. Rick felt eager elation rising in him at the prospect of leaving the gates again and hurriedly buckled his holster and knife to him, enthused at being armed with more than simple farm tools.

After checking himself over once more, Rick left his cell and quickly headed towards the dining area. Most of the prison seemed to be dormant, but he could hear hushed chatter coming from the dining area. Between the exposed cells and the acoustics of the prison walls, privacy was paltry, something of the old world and it didn’t leave much to the imagination. Rick slowed his steps, listening in to the rough voices.

Daryl and Oscar.

He couldn’t quite hear what they were talking about, but it was the first time Rick had heard Daryl speak to anyone else in a while. It was almost relieving.

When he entered the dining room, the two other men fell silent. Rick smiled at them as if their sudden change in demeanour wasn’t completely obvious and walked over to where Daryl was reclining against the counter.

“Mornin’,” Rick piped happily as he dug through the cabinet, shuffling through the canned squash and the canned green beans. Canned breakfast, lunch, dinner, and everything in between.

Daryl nodded at him but remained quiet as he stared down Oscar sitting at the small table, who wouldn’t return his gaze and instead greeted Rick back. “You seem awful chipper this morning, sheriff. Big day?”

Rick stole a dubious look with Daryl, who had his arms crossed over his chest with his freshly washed bangs dangling in his narrowed eyes.

“Reckon you could call it that,” Rick answered, settling on a can of vienna sausages for breakfast and cracking it open. “Been too long since I saw the outside world. Looking to get a breath of fresh air again.”

The appalled look Rick got in return from Oscar got him chuckling as he speared a pale sausage with his ocelot, unable to find a fork. “You call that fresh air?”

“I call that more exciting than watching grass grow, that’s for damn sure.”

Oscar heaved his shoulders, eyes wide and disbelieving. “What about them geeks crawling ‘round?”

“A small headache, I’ll give ‘em that,” Rick smirked around a mouthful of spongy meat, thoroughly enjoying watching Oscar’s growing bewilderment. “Nothin’ Daryl ‘n I haven’t dealt with ‘fore.”

“Y’all are crazy round here, shit,” Oscar muttered, shaking his head.

Daryl pipped up, voice gravelly around his crooked smile. “Ain’t nothing like diggin’ your knife inta one, knowing ya get ta live that much longer.”

Rick found himself laughing slightly at the convict’s reaction, the trembling in his shoulders and tugging at his lips feeling almost out of place anymore. Shoving another sausage in his mouth, he turned to lean against the counter as well. “Daryl gets it.”

Unconsciously and still shaking and grinning with mirth, Rick offered the can towards the hunter next to him who absently reached his fingers in to grab one. Daryl’s expression almost mirrored Rick’s in its humor as he chewed the vienna sausage, and the atmosphere actually felt _breathable _for a change.__

__“Yeah, I bet he does,” Oscar mused ambiguously, getting up from the steel bench and stretching his large body. “Well, you two have fun, then. Since this shit seems to be right up your alley and all. G’night.”_ _

__They said their goodbyes as he left, seeming to take the jovial mood with him. With just the two of them, Daryl went back to crossing his arms and being aloof and Rick felt the smile melt from his lips. The bland viennas tasted sour in his mouth suddenly and he forced down the rest before turning to Daryl, signalling that he was ready to go._ _

__“Let’s hit it,” Daryl announced and shouldered his crossbow while heading out the door. Rick tailed him, squinting his eyes when they entered the glow of the rising sun._ _

__“Time for that fresh air you want so bad.”_ _


	3. Confections

.:Confections:.

Time seemed sluggish out in the open, surrounded by nothing but trees and the all-consuming presence next to him. Rick had always admired the agile way Daryl moved when in his comfort zone, which was primarily prowling through the forest for prey and undead alike, and always felt quite inept when floundering around next to him.

Today was no different, and Rick cursed every time he managed to find a branch underfoot, the forest floor sounding no better than a field of landmines in the early morning calm. The other man gave him a derisive glare every time he broke the silence, but otherwise behaved as if he were slinking around the woods solo. Rick was admittedly happy for the other man’s company, as unforthcoming as it was, and hoped Daryl was finding whatever catharsis he had expected to in Rick’s added companionship.

Enough hours had gone by for the sun to be fully over the horizon now, shortening their shadows and warming their skin. Rick was nothing if not a patient man, and he usually relaxed in the quiet of Daryl’s presence -- even finding comfort being with someone who wasn’t constantly trying to get him to speak -- but even he could feel the end of that virtue approaching with the prolonged silence.

“Where we headed, Daryl?” Rick broke, watching the man flinch at the sound.

Daryl glanced at him and nodded north in the direction they were headed. “Found somethin’ up ahead last time I came out.”

“That why you brought me along?”

Scowling at Rick’s prodding, Daryl shrugged. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to show ya.”

Rick smiled, stepping over some foliage. “You gonna tell me what it is?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Soon, the woods surrounding them began morphing into less wild terrain and Rick was perceptive enough to see they were soon encroaching on an urban area. It wasn’t much later that Daryl signaled for Rick to crouch down with him, poised and peering through a once maintained thicket of hedges. Past the overgrown branches, Rick could see a small cul-de-sac on the outskirts of a larger town, two walkers shambling about listlessly.

Rick looked to Daryl who was watching the two corpses, waiting to see what Daryl brought him along for. The hunter nudged him and pointed towards a building too small and squat to be a house. Rick squinted, face scrunching in attempt to make out what it was. A shed? A barn?

“Thought I finished all them walkers last time I was here. Must’ve come from somewhere else.” Daryl shrugged his crossbow into position, scoping down the sights. “S’only two of ‘em, though.”

“We don’t know that yet,” said Rick, hastily lowering Daryl’s arm. The older man looked around them, then nodded to the left of their position behind the shrubbery. “We go around, see if they’re alone. We don’t need any surprises out here.”

Daryl glanced at the two groaning walkers and nodded, quickly turning to circle around the left of the suburb without hesitation. The two men skated the backs of the houses all lined up in a ring, eyes open for any threats while they cautiously made their way to the small hut Daryl was leading them to. As far as walkers went, Rick could only note the two out in the middle of the street, though he was sure there were still some in the houses.

“Looks clear,” Rick spoke, signaling to Daryl. He drew his knife while Daryl raised his crossbow once more, training his sights on the female corpse moaning hungrily to the right.

“I got right.”

Rick nodded, leaving the confines of the shrubs and walking towards the undead. He rarely ever felt a sense of urgency anymore when dealing with a handful of walkers, especially with Daryl at his back like usual. Rick found himself smiling as he approached the rotting bodies, feeling the familiarity of their teamwork almost like a muscle memory. It was a comfort, the two of them.

Something about their synergy felt more at home than even his old life now.

Gripping the handle of his knife in his hand, Rick met the lifeless man’s death grip on his shoulders with a grasp of his decaying neck to keep him at arm’s length, using his other hand to drive the curved blade into the walker’s temple. The snarling and spitting fight the walker put up left him in an instant and the claws clutching Rick’s shirt dropped limply.

Grimacing now, Rick slid the knife out with a sickening schlick and tossed the body off of him. As he looked up at the female walker now charging him with her jaws snapping, an arrow instantly imbedded itself in her left eye, stopping her just as effectively as any dagger. She dropped as well and Rick found himself smiling again, despite the macabre scene surrounding them, as he roughly yanked out the arrow from her decimated cranium.

“The hell you smiling for?” Daryl came up behind him, startling him.

Rick handed him the bloodied arrow, shrugging. “This ain’t quite what I’d call fresh air, but I think it might just be exactly what I needed.”

Daryl remained silent, but accepted his arrow with a tiny smile dancing across his lips momentarily. Flicking the blood off the arrowhead, Daryl restrung his crossbow and loaded it. “C’mon, dork.”

Together, they watchfully made their way to the singular, unremarkable building that Rick could see was now made of glass. And full of verdant plants. And…

“A greenhouse,” he breathed, entering the dewy room.

Daryl watched Rick’s gaping reaction and looked momentarily pleased with himself. “Found it when I was tracking a boar. The bastard got away, but I saw this ‘n managed ta clear it out.”

There was an opening broken into the roof of it, shattered bits of glass glimmering underfoot, that Daryl pointed towards. “Up there,” he nudged Rick. “Don’t know what could’a done that, but it lets the rain in when it storms.”

Eyes wide, Rick looked around in awe and tried to absorb everything. This could be life changing for them if they managed to tend to it somehow -- already Rick’s mind was churning, trying to process ways they could optimize this for their family. Idea after idea popped into his mind until he felt a wide hand palming his shoulder. Rick looked down at it, then up the arm to Daryl’s face, transparent and full of something Rick couldn’t quite comprehend.

“C’mon,” Daryl jostled him, walking towards the back of the greenhouse. “All the good stuff’s back here.”

“Too good fer tomatoes?” Rick joked, still in wonder at this stroke of luck as they passed by ripening tomatoes and cucumbers. There were pots lined up in columns, looking like it had once been orderly, but now most of the plants and vines had overgrown down the sides of the containers. Various vegetables were flowering from eggplants to spinach and Rick even spotted the beginnings of some type of pepper budding. His mouth watered at the memory of spicy foods -- he had never much cared for that heated flavor before the turn, but being picky was a luxury they couldn’t afford and Rick found himself looking forward to the taste.

“You’ll see,” Daryl eyed him from over his shoulder as he led him to the back wall of the building. He reached up on his toes and dug his hands into a hanging plant, one of many that decorated the back wall, his face scrunched in concentration and tongue peeking out slightly.

With a smirk, Daryl drew some something that he held out to Rick -- a small, maroon berry that looked perfectly ripe was nestled in the palm of the hunter’s hand. “Here,” Daryl insisted.

Rick looked up at him with a bemused grin, plucking the raspberry from his palm with delicate fingers. “We have fruit?”

“Lot more where that came from”, Daryl gestured to the rest of the plants. “We got strawberries coming in, too.”

Grinning still, Rick popped the raspberry into his mouth and sucked on it, face crinkling and mouth puckering from the exploding tartness of it all. “Oh my god, it’s like candy.”

He heard Daryl chuckle at Rick’s reaction and watched him place one of the berries in his own mouth. They hadn’t had fruit since Hershel’s farm, save for the canned peaches and pears that stocked the prison, and Rick wanted that alien taste again. He had forgotten how artificial tasting the canned fruits were and revelled in Daryl’s find. Rick stood on his toes as well, groping around the leaves for more, and said, “We need to find a way to bring this back to the prison somehow.”

Daryl nodded, a small handful of raspberries in his hand. “Can’t without a car, though. Tried.”

Rick looked around, mouth stained with the taste and color of the berries as he sucked on another one, and tried to plan the best way to transport everything. He’d have to talk with Hershel about what to bring and how to go about it, but already Rick was feeling the festive sentiment of Thanksgiving stirring in his belly.

“C’mere,” Daryl started, turning Rick around to explore the right side of the back wall. Different leaves floated around their heads and dangled at their waists and Rick tried cataloging every plant he saw -- strawberries, cranberries, some type of melon -- while Daryl stopped and crouched down in front of a bush.

Gingerly, Daryl plucked a small, dark berry from the bush and Rick stooped down next to the other man, looking at the blackberry in Daryl’s hand. He rolled it in between his fingers for a moment, looking as hesitant as ever, and tentatively held it out to Rick. Rick stared at it for a moment, stared at Daryl’s suddenly timid demeanor, and accepted it gratefully. It was warm in his mouth from Daryl’s fingers.

“Thanks,” said Rick, bleeding the fruit of its almost bittersweet juices with his tongue.

Daryl nodded, not looking at him, and reached into the plant for more. “This was the best thing I ever got for Thanksgiving. Love ‘em now.”

Rick stopped playing with the fruit in his mouth and stared pointedly at the other man, who was sucking on a fruit with a pensive look on his face. He tilted his head to try and meet Daryl’s eyes, swallowing the blackberry. “You just ate blackberries all day? What about the stuffing or, or the biscuits?” Rick laughed anxiously, already having a sense of Daryl’s answer.

“We ain’t had none a’ that,” Daryl said solemnly, confirming Rick’s sickening intuition.

“No ham or gravy or nothin’?”

Daryl scoffed. “I got a PB&J if I was home ta make it, otherwise it was whate’er I could find. Got a squirrel once.”

“So you…” Rick started, stopping to ballast himself against this torrent of protective emotions. “You have _never _celebrated Thanksgiving?”__

__Shrugging, Daryl kept his eyes trained on the blackberry bush, bottom lip between his teeth. Rick was starting to see it as the nervous habit it was. “Ain’t ne’er had nothin’ ta celebrate.”_ _

__Rick closed his eyes, feeling that painful clenching in his heart at Daryl’s confession, unable to keep the white from spreading across his knuckles. When he opened his eyes he saw Daryl watching him, glancing down at the fists he made. His face was impassive._ _

__“Daryl,” Rick started, working to keep his voice even._ _

__The hunter interrupted him. “You can save yer sympathy. Ne’er wanted that from anyone.”_ _

__It hit Rick quite forcefully why Daryl had been in such an irritable mood for the last two weeks. He hadn’t been too excited himself at the prospect of celebrating Thanksgiving within the austere confines of the prison, especially after the people they had lost, but he had come around when everyone started cheerfully swapping old Thanksgiving stories. Rick had never once considered the likelihood that Daryl didn’t have any happy stories of his own to share._ _

__He felt like a first class, bona fide idiot in that moment._ _

__Always compassionate, always attentive to Daryl’s emotions and he never thought to consider how painful this might be for him. Rick could’ve kicked himself right then._ _

__“Ya told me ain’t nobody expects me ta go out there,” he reminisced, eyes soft and distant. His large fingers tore apart a fallen leaf distractedly, tossing it to the side roughly when it became nothing but frayed veins. “Yer wrong ‘bout that. E’er since Beth brought it up, they all look at me like they expect me ta just pull Thanksgiving out ma’ ass or somethin’.”_ _

__Rick winced at his colorful language and put a hand on Daryl’s shoulder with the intention of arguing with him, but the other man shook off his touch and stood up strenuously._ _

__“E’rytime I come back from a hunt, they act like I’m goddamn Santa Claus with no presents or some shit. They all…” Daryl trailed off, frustrated._ _

__Standing up, Rick nodded. Daryl looked at him, helplessly speechless, but Rick understood. The other man had never really been articulate or eloquent in expressing himself, which was something Rick always found they shared in, and Rick had learned overtime how to understand Daryl’s intentions past his words alone._ _

__“Yeah, everyone went a little overboard with this, I’ll give ya that. But that ain’t on you.”_ _

__“I just…” Daryl shrugged. “I don’t wanna let anyone down.”_ _

__As he connected the dots, a small smile danced upon Rick’s lips. Daryl noticed and raised an eyebrow. “That what you wanted my help with?”_ _

__Daryl’s small eyes darted between Rick’s vivid ones and his gentle smile, remaining silent for a moment before nodding. That same, open and vulnerable look was lingering on his normally rough face, and Rick’s smile widened. “It’d be my pleasure.”_ _

__The smile on Rick’s face was slowly, painfully gradually, returned. Daryl smiled back at him, not a roguish half smile, not a cocky smirk or a shit-eating grin, but a small, honest smile. It made Rick’s head spin for a reason he couldn’t fathom, and before he could try, before he could even revel in making the calloused man smile or appreciate the way the corners of his eyes crinkled just slightly, a cold and putrid weight fell upon him from his right._ _

__“Rick!”_ _

__The snarling and dripping in his ear, the decaying in his nose, the cold wall of the greenhouse surging to meet his body all sent off an animalistic fury in him. Rick twisted his body around so he could raise his arms against the thick, entropic body pressed to his, pinning him against the back of the building._ _

__Leaves and vines decorated the walker’s face, driving towards Rick’s face with a gaping mouth and eroded teeth. Rick gripped the oncoming face by the forehead, reaching for his knife with his other, the dead skin crumbling and tearing like paper beneath his fingertips. The snarling maw was mere inches from his face now and his entire world was filled with the stench of rot and the dead gaze of hungry eyes. Rick turned his head and pressed his cheek to the cold, slick surface of the glass, desperate to keep his nose out of the shrinking biting range._ _

__He grabbed his knife handle just as the walker’s face left his, instantaneous. The weight thrashing against his own was pried off and thrown to the side by a very rigid, very pissed Daryl who quickly mounted the prone walker’s back and started slamming it’s face into the ground by it’s wispy hair._ _

__Dazed, hand still at his dagger, Rick watched his friend lay into the walker repeatedly._ _

__Rick looked around for any more threats and drew his knife when the thudding next to him continued. Stooping down next to Daryl and the jerking walker, Rick thrust his ocelot into the back of its head and the hunter up looked at him, irritated._ _

__“Think you got him, Daryl,” Rick wiped the gore from his blade on the collar of the corpse and stood._ _

__Daryl sneered at him and rose as well, face coming close to Rick’s combatively. He was close enough for Rick to see the hellfire in his eyes and the raspberry-pink stain on his lips. “The hell was that anyway? Ya just gon’ let some geek sneak up on ya like that?”_ _

__Folding his knife, Rick grimaced and stepped back. The adrenaline of the near-death experience was still pounding in his ears and on top of that he could feel a flustered heat rising to his neck at his carelessness. The sweetness lingering in his mouth was replaced with a bitterness at the situation._ _

__“I woulda had it,” Rick offered lamely, hearing the feigned assurance in his own ears._ _

__Scoffing, Daryl sauntered away, muttering under his breath while he squatted down and grabbed the walker’s wrists. His jaw muscles were tense. “Always gotta be watching yer sorry back. Sicka ya gettin’ inta shit.”_ _

__“It helps knowing you have my back,” he ventured._ _

__Daryl glared in return, sitting back on his heels. “Nah, man. ‘S like you have a death wish or somethin’. Can’t be there all the time, hard as I try.”_ _

__There was a moment of silence between the men, a look of understanding. Daryl was more than just Rick’s wingman, his henchman, his second-in-command -- Rick just couldn’t quite get what else he could be, what other void the younger man could be filling. All he could boil it down to was the mutual trust between the two, a unique and rare trust built in the forge of hell itself. They managed to survive the apocalypse and defy death’s beckon when they had each other._ _

__Hell, they flourished in each other’s presence, their camaraderie a buffer between them and utter perdition._ _

__Daryl swallowed and looked away awkwardly. Rick did the same. “You gonna help with this sum’bitch or just stand there like a dumbass again?”_ _

__The two quickly moved the human remains outside and walled off the entrance of the greenhouse, hoping to save themselves of any nasty surprises in the future. Daryl made a few more jabs at Rick’s earlier ordeal before they were lost to the forest once more._ _


	4. Conceit

.:Conceit:.

There was a fascinating squelching sound accompanied by an arch of spoiled blood marring the air and landing on the chain-link fence as yet another walker fell. A dozen more took its place, crowding the gate and snapping at him vainly while bits of their spongy brain matter and skin blanketed the rusted metal of the fence. One by one, they fell back to pile on top of each other in a stinking mass of death.

Carl methodically worked the rebar he wielded into the foreheads and eye sockets of the animated dead, feeling an odd sense of pride blooming at his ability to perform these grisly tasks without flinching anymore.

_Kill 100 zombies without taking damage. Next level unlocked._

_Achieve 10 zombie headshots in a row. Twenty five points._

_Light a barn full of zombies on fire. Bonus stage._

_Stare a zombie in the eyes while you fill it with rebar. Gold medal._

_Become a totally detached and ruthless killing machine. Good job, kid. Forget Call of Duty._

If his dad could see him work this way, he’d be so proud, Carl knew it. If only his mom could see what he’d turn into, maybe she wouldn’t have babied him so constantly. Maybe she’d be proud of him, too.

_Mom…_

Carl stopped his killing process and tried to imagine it. She’d be there, frail bones and swollen belly and all, and then there would be Carl, in front of her, protecting her from a horde of walkers. She’d be terrified, calling for his dad or for Shane, but he’d be there. He’d handle it himself, all by himself. He didn’t need any grown-ups just to kill a few zombies -- he’d lop off their heads or shoot their skulls in before anyone else could show up and try to shield him from it.

Like they even could shield him from it anymore. At this point, he didn’t want to be shielded from it and wanted to be there in the messy fray like Glenn or Daryl. He was good at killing walkers, he just didn’t get why no one else saw it.

But he’d make them see it. He’d make _mom _see it, and then finally she’d stop treating him like such a kid. She’d be smiling and hugging him, telling him what a good job he did at protecting her, telling him what a good big brother he’d make, telling him everything that he had worked so hard to hear just before she --__

__Reality all came back to Carl at once and he started thrusting the rebar into the walkers beings more forcefully than ever, feeling his arms start to ache with the heartbreak of it all._ _

__“You okay, Carl?” Beth asked next to him apprehensively with her tiny voice._ _

__“Fine,” Carl muttered back, tilting his sheriff's hat to conceal his anguish from her. “Just hate these things is all…”_ _

__Beth nodded and wiped her sweaty brow with her forearm before she sunk a long, thin pipe stake into a particularly gruesome face. Carl watched her from the brim of his hat, her pretty features contorted in something akin to nausea as she slid the iron from the walker’s brain. He remembered when seeing so much gore made him feel the same way she did._ _

__Bitterly, Carl knew that pride was the last thing his mom would be feeling._ _

__It wasn’t much longer until the remaining walkers were laid to rest and Beth threw her weapon down with a clang, stepping back and removing her muddy gloves. With a sigh, she plopped down and leaned back against the other gate, thin fingers fiddling with each other. Carl sat down next to her and took off his hat so he could lean back, looking out into the forest with her._ _

__“Ya know,” Beth started, voice cracking slightly. “I still can’t bring myself to hate these things like everyone else.”_ _

__She gestured towards the bodies, but Carl was staring at her now and was having a hard time registering what she was saying, much less identifying with it._ _

__“What?” he asked brusquely._ _

__Her blue eyes darted to his, eyes defensive at his tone. “I can’t. They’re still…”_ _

__“People?” he finished for her, voice dripping with sarcasm. She looked down, gossamer hair framing her face. “These things _aren’t _people.”___ _

____“They were,” Beth said firmly, looking to him now._ _ _ _

____Carl swallowed. He couldn’t think like that anymore. It was dangerous. Toxic. Better to compartmentalize than to sympathize is what this world had taught him. Hell, it was what his dad had taught him._ _ _ _

____Still, he couldn’t argue with her._ _ _ _

____“I think…” she started again, hesitant. Carl waited. “I think I might’ve been happier back at our barn, back when I thought we could help them, or at least… do something other than just kill ‘em.”_ _ _ _

____Carl thought about it. Could he say the same?_ _ _ _

____“I mean,” she continued, voice gaining strength when her companion didn’t argue with her. “We fed them for Christ’s sake. I really thought there was somethin’ we could do -- about my mom, and,” her voice started to break, “and Shawn, and that little girl.”_ _ _ _

____“Sophia,” Carl amended, feeling his blood turn cold._ _ _ _

____Beth nodded shakily. “At least back then, the world wasn’t just about killing. It wasn’t kill or be killed.”_ _ _ _

____They fell to silence and Carl thought about what Beth had said. Had he been happier? Of course he had been. He had his mom, his dad, Shane even. Dale hadn’t died because of him, Hershel still had his leg. He was going to find Sophia, going to save her from whatever hell she’d been through, carry her and deliver her to Carol, who would cry and thank him. She would never be afraid again with him around, and his dad would be so proud, Shane would smack him on the back and call him a man, and his mom --_ _ _ _

____Was he really happier?_ _ _ _

____Carl swallowed thickly, unable to believe that things were really happier before. He remembered his panic at learning about the walkers in the barn, his vindication at it being purged, his crushing horror at seeing Sophia’s body stumble from the barn towards them. Even now, he could feel the sickness spike in his blood at the memory. He felt like somehow Beth’s words did Sophia some injustice._ _ _ _

____“You’re wrong,” Carl broke the silence, forcing Beth to look back up at him. “It’s always been like that. We just never saw it that way ‘cause we thought we could do something about it. We can’t.”_ _ _ _

____Beth’s brows knit together. Two walkers came shambling towards the fence from the edge of the trees and Carl rose to greet them, gripping his rebar tightly and placing the sheriffs hat on his head. Carl could feel her eyes on him as he jammed the bar into the left one’s temple and let it fall to the ground. She stood next to him, looking from him to the remaining walker and back to him before she stabbed it in the forehead with her stake._ _ _ _

____“It can’t all just be fire and brimstone, Carl,” Beth said tentatively as she met his eyes once the walker had fallen._ _ _ _

____Carl scoffed cynically. “Name _one person _who can still say they’re happy in all this.”___ _ _ _

______She shrugged her pale shoulder offhandedly. “Judith.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The laughter that erupted from Carl’s mouth surprised them both, his eyes welling up from the humor of it all, and managed to reply, “She doesn’t count, she’s just a baby.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Babies count,” she defended._ _ _ _ _ _

______Carl was still laughing. “No, they don’t.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Fine,” Beth huffed and crossed her arms. “My daddy’s still happy.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“After losing both of his wives and his leg?” Carl shot back callously. There was a twitch of emotion on Beth’s soft face. “I don’t know that he’d agree with you. Who else?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______A pause stretched between them and it looked like Beth was trying to gather the nerve to say something. Nothing came and Carl felt a bittersweet victory at stumping her. “C’mon,” he prompted. “Nobody?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Beth rose her chin confidently in response. “Your dad.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Carl felt like she had smacked him, pain and tingles and all. His laugh this time was more derisive, more jeering, at her nerve. _“My dad?” _____ _ _ _ _

________Despite his cutting edge, Beth nodded her assurance. Carl ran a hand down his face like he had seen his dad do when he was trying to reason with a brick wall of a person and shook his head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“How can you say that after he went crazy just a few months ago?” he probed, feeling a sick hope leaking through the cracks in his emotional compartments and infecting his cynicism. There’s no way he could believe his dad was better off now than he was before, though he couldn’t keep some small part of him from wanting that to be true just because someone else could believe it to be true._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He combated the rosy hope rising in him, knowing how noxious it could be to his carefully constructed veneer of apathy. “I’ve never seen him more… broken.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Well I’ve never seen him more at peace,” Beth threw back vehemently._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Carl gaped at her. “How can you say that?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“In all my time around him,” her cheeks were flushed with the nerve of her words, “it’s always been ‘Lori this, Shane that’. Well now, for the first time ever, I see him actually getting to relax.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The truth in her words held more impact than the .308 Winchester round that had torn through him a year ago and there was no way to soften the blow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“For once, he ain’t gotta watch his back.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He cringed at her words, simultaneously wanting them to be true for his dad’s sake and hating their shred of truth for his mom’s sake, his own sake._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“He’s actually smiling, Carl, and that never happened back at the barn. How can _you _say he ain’t happier?”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Swallowing the lump in his throat down to the pit in his stomach, Carl turned to walk away from her. “‘Cause my mom’s dead.” Before he could get far, Beth grabbed his arm and turned him around to face her, face alive with conviction._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“So’s mine,” she bit back. “But that doesn’t mean my daddy’s gotta be miserable for the rest of his life.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Carl shook his arm from her grasp roughly. “Maybe it should for my dad.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Shock filled Beth’s features at his spiteful words, her petite mouth slightly agape. If he hadn’t been so riled up, Carl might have felt embarrassed at fighting with the girl, but he was too far gone for the sentiment._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“You don’t really believe that, do you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Maybe I do,” he muttered, starting to walk away again. This time, instead of stopping him, Beth scurried along with him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“He’s your _dad _, Carl,” she insisted.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Carl scowled. “So what? He wasn’t around when the walkers attacked our house. He wasn’t around when _I _took care of mom. Even now, he’s just out goofing off with Daryl.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“He’s taken care of all of us, Carl,” Beth pursed her lips. “We all owe him a lot, including you. Don’t you think he deserves the chance to goof off from time to time?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________They were walking up the grassy hill to the prison now, the sun high in the sky and their stomachs growling. Carl didn’t answer, so Beth continued. “If Daryl’s what makes him happy, then I’m glad your dad has him.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Carl’s eyes narrowed at her from under the shade of the hat. “He ain’t Shane and he ain’t my mom.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Maybe that’s not what your dad needs right now,” Beth ventured gently._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“What do you know about what my dad needs?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Beth rolled her eyes at him, exasperated. “Nothing really. But maybe Daryl does. I’ve never seen Rick smile so much around someone before, other than Judith anyway.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________It hurt, but Carl forced himself to consider it. He didn’t want anyone fulfilling the roles that his mom did, and he vehemently rejected the idea of Daryl being the one his dad went to find happiness. Beth was wrong, she had to be -- there was no way his dad smiled more now than he used to, not with his mom’s absence haunting them. Carl didn’t know if he thought his dad deserved that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________His mind wandered back to his reverie before, about his mom praising him for killing all those walkers. _You’re a man now, _he had imagined her saying, hugging her to him and finally recognizing his hard-earned maturity. His heart throbbed painfully knowing how misplaced the words were, even in his fantasy.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________It felt wrong all over. False. Phoney._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________The sham mom in his head smiled at him while he cut down walker after walker, piling up the death count, and blessed his prowess at protecting everyone. _Just like your father, _she’d say.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________His real mom had cried and tried to pull the weapons from his hands, scolding him and telling him that he knew better. That these were for adults only and to go hide, look away, stay innocent, forever._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________His mom had lived in a fantasy world, Carl realized. The old world, where little boys didn’t have to shed blood to survive and where husbands wouldn’t go on runs to keep everyone safe and keep their wives distant. It had hurt him, pushed him further and further away from her, and Carl recognized that maybe it had happened with his dad, too._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________That maybe everything wasn’t his dad’s fault._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________That maybe, just maybe, his dad could have deserved whatever happiness he could bear to manage after his wife pushed him away in favor of her fantasy world._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________The two arrived at the side door to the prison and Carl opened it, holding it open for Beth to go through first. She smiled at him and began walking inside, but stopped suddenly to turn to him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“You know, there isn’t much happiness to go around anymore,” she began, eyes never leaving his. “And I think maybe, maybe we should all take what we can get, even your dad.” With that being said, Beth paused for a moment before leaning over to Carl and brushing her tender lips to his dirty cheek for a split second. Carl stiffened, heat spreading through his body from where her lips had made contact with him. She smiled at him before quickly turning around, hair flicking in the air, and ran through the prison hallway._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________A lopsided smile crossed Carl’s face as he touched his cheek._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Maybe they all did deserve what little shreds of happiness found them, even if it meant someone other than his mom being in his and his dad’s life._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	5. Novice

.:Novice:.

“So how exactly do ya want me to help?”

Rick looked over at Daryl, who was analyzing their surroundings with a practiced eye. The two men had stopped for lunch not even an hour ago, eating a plump squirrel on a spit that Daryl had managed to rig together, and were now wandering rather aimlessly as far as Rick could tell. The hunter had kept quiet for most of their time after the greenhouse, seemingly still agitated by Rick’s brush with the sneaking dead, and Rick was ready for a break from the heavy silence.

Daryl glanced at him and shrugged helplessly. “I dunno, jus’... give me some pointers or sum shit.”

Laughing slightly at the other man’s ambiguity, Rick said, “Pointers? You want me to give you pointers on...? What? Wandering through the forest? ‘Cause I think we got that down pat.”

“You tell me.” The hunter stopped and turned to his companion, irritation on his sharp features. “‘Cause I ain’t got a clue where ta start with all this.”

Rick swallowed at Daryl’s narrowed and defensive eyes, putting his hands up in a gesture of neutrality. He watched his friend and thought for a moment, understanding wholeheartedly his distress at taking on the entire world and feeling like he’s failed it. In this case, though, the whole world was a meager dozen people grouped together and desperate for some happiness. Rick knew what it felt like to make that his vital responsibility, and pondered the best way for Daryl to deliver.

“Well…” Rick started. “Figure the turkey’s as good a place as any to start.”

Daryl held his gaze for a moment longer, but nodded when he seemed satisfied with Rick’s answer. Without another word, the man shouldered his crossbow and looked up, attention eventually landing on a tree that peaked out over the rest. Before Rick managed to figure out what he was doing, Daryl quickly sauntered over to the trunk of it and mounted the branches. His strong body reached up to branch after jutting branch, quickly and surprisingly gracefully scaling the tree.

“Daryl…” Rick called up to him, standing beneath him now and looking up. He was about to say something else when he realized the only thing he could see from down there was the other man’s backside and quickly looked away. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?” Daryl hollered back down. His voice was thin with the strain of hoisting himself up.

Rick flushed and hoped Daryl couldn’t see it from how high up he was. It’s not like he had been intentionally scoping out the hunter’s rear end, but there was no way he could begin to explain himself without digging himself into a deeper, more awkward hole. “I’d enjoy ya not fallin’ to yer death.”

“Ya had better catch me, then,” he grunted, finally stopping when he was quite a few yards above Rick. Rick could see him scanning the area from the higher vantage point, not being hindered by the rest of the trees surrounding them.

“How ‘bout ya just be careful?” 

Even with their height difference, Rick could hear the other man snort and mutter, “What, like you?”

Rick grinned and shook his head, purposefully keeping his eyes down so the other man wouldn’t think anything of it otherwise. He wanted to sanctify the other man's privacy as much as possible, even from this angle. “‘Do as I say, not as I do’?” he offered playfully, hearing the scrape of Daryl’s boots as he started his descent down the tree. Rick took it upon himself to look back up at him to watch his trek down, ignoring the flush gnawing up his neck.

Thank god for beards.

“What happened to ‘lead by example’, officer?”

Daryl jumped the few feet left to the ground and landed in front of Rick, crouching into the impact smoothly. “Guess that went out the window with the rest of the world,” he murmured as he brushed off some flakes of bark from Daryl’s vest absentmindedly. He froze, watching Rick carefully, until Rick remembered how uncomfortable the other man became whenever anyone came too close and stopped. Rick was always a very tactile person and still had a hard time refraining from giving Daryl even the friendliest of touches. Everyone else in their group welcomed his affection except for their black sheep, and it bewildered Rick sometimes just how much that bothered him. 

“Find what ya needed?” Rick coughed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah,” Daryl nodded, still looking at Rick as he finished shaking off the bits of tree from his person. “If we gonna bag ourselves a tom, we best find ourselves a clearing.”

Rick smiled, not even having the slightest clue how to find a turkey in the woods of rural Georgia, but knew this was Daryl’s comfort zone. The man had been hunting his whole life and made it clear that this was his area of expertise, and Rick felt content enough to hand over the reigns for a while. The only turkey hunting he had experience with was driving down to the local supermarket every year and bagging himself a frozen one.

The two crept northwards, Rick following Daryl’s lead and trying his damndest not to make too much noise. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin the zealous mood Daryl was in and happily settled in the backseat of their operation. Daryl stopped every so often to kneel down and examine God knows what, changing their course when he rose again, and it was all Rick could do to not constantly badger the hunter with his curiosity. It made the trek rather slow going, and Rick eventually started leaning over Daryl whenever the man was stooped down, trying to see whatever evidence Daryl saw in the viridity. The first few times it happened, Daryl would tense at the proximity but otherwise ignore him. Eventually, though, the man started to grow restless and unhinged and when Rick angled himself over him this time, Daryl jerked upright and eyed him suspiciously.

“What?” he snapped.

Rick threw his hands up. “It’s nothin’. I… Sorry.”

Daryl gave him a hard look before turning away and leaning back down to the tree trunk he was previously crouched at. Rick stood back, thumbing his belt loops passively while he tried to give the man some space and looked everywhere but him. Daryl stayed crouched at that spot for far longer than he had with the others and Rick wondered idly if it was something he did to disrupt the hunter. 

A heavy sigh and a soft whistle caught Rick’s attention, drawing his gaze to Daryl’s hunched back. Without looking back at him, Daryl raised a thick finger and waved it for Rick to come over. Even at his summon, when Rick approached him from behind, he saw Daryl stiffen.

Meeting Rick’s eyes, Daryl nodded down to the trunk, gesturing for Rick to squat down next to him. “C’mere. Hell if we’re gonna find anything if ya don’t know how ta track.”

Rick could hardly hide his smile or eagerness as he crouched next to Daryl. He pretended not to notice Daryl flinching away when their knees bumped together, far too enveloped in his hunting lesson to be bothered by it. Daryl gave him a sidelong glance before turning to point towards the trunk they were crouched in front of. Bits and pieces were chipped away from the base of it, creating a rough V-shape in the bark.

“See that?” Daryl asked, fingering the rough edges of it. “S’ how toms sharpen their beaks. This area o’ Georgia turns inta breeding ground this time’a year. Ya can see their tracks all over.”

Daryl brushed away some fallen leaves and pointed to various indents in the soil, four pronged prints littering the ground which he eyed greedily. 

“Some are pretty deep, too. Hoss looks like he’s been eatin’ good for the winter,” he smirked, clearly excited by his find. Rick, however, was at a loss of how to distinguish one ‘sign’ from another and felt his appreciation for the other man expanding within him.

A short, breathy laugh escaped Rick’s mouth as he shook his head incredulously. “Can’t say I see much of anything.”

“Ya learn to see the signs,” he shrugged back, feigning nonchalance while chewing his bottom lip. “When yer forced ta live out here. See, these prints’re too big to be quail ‘n they ain’t shaped like geese or nothin’. O’er there,” Daryl pointed to some long grass off a ways with dark plumes stuck in it. “Ya have some tom feathers. Ya can tell ‘cause hens ain’t got feathers that long or dark, ‘n the females don’t mark up trees like this.”

Rick smiled, watching Daryl more than his surroundings. This was by far the most talkative the other man had been around him in a long time, so Rick was trying to absorb what he could of the moment. He made sure to keep away from his personal space in fear of ruining the moment

“Why’s that?” Rick encouraged.

Daryl paused, keeping his eyes down away from Rick’s probing ones and swallowed thickly before answering. 

“Dominance.”

A silence settled over the two, nearly meaningful, and Rick hardly knew how to respond while Daryl sat on his heels, the conversational mood clearly deflated. Rick couldn’t help the nagging feeling that this was somehow his fault and felt a twinge of guilt for whatever he did to put off Daryl, who abruptly stood next to him.

“So, uh…” Daryl placed one hand on his hip and chewed at the callous around his thumb on his other hand, looking down at Rick subtly. “S’ pretty easy to tell the difference ‘tween hog, wolf, ‘n walker tracks. Ya know…”

Their lesson was clearly coming to an end.

Daryl cleared his throat and watched Rick stand next to him out of the corner of his eye. Rick smiled softly at the man, appreciating his attempt at breaking the awkward silence, and clapped him on the shoulder amiably. “Thanks, man,” Rick nodded, watching Daryl fidget from the contact. “I mean it.”

The hunter nodded and grunted roughly in return before heading off towards the opening he had mentioned seeing from the treetops.

~~~~~

It was now midday, the sun moving along the sky, as Rick gazed out into a grassy clearing out in the forest where Daryl insisted they’d find some prey. Disappointment filled his bones when he saw the field empty save for tufts of feathers, practically mocking them. To his right knelt Daryl poised and ready, peering down his scope into the opening. His expression was composed and serious, no trace of the defeat Rick felt.

They sat that way for endless minutes with Rick waiting patiently and Daryl wound taut with poise. The silence was deafening and just when Rick was about to nudge the other man, he lowered his crossbow and raised his hands his face. His giant palms were wrapped left over right, creating a hollow cavern inside of them, and his thumbs were clamped together over the space in his hands. Daryl pressed his cupped hands to his lips and blew. The sharp sound that came from his hands startled Rick nearly half to death.

_Koo, koo. Kooooo._

Rick slapped a hand over Daryl’s, trying to stop him from making such a shrill noise. His whisper was harsh towards the other man. “You trying to scare everything a mile away?” 

Daryl, expectedly, froze and gave Rick a sharp look.”S’ a mating call.” 

“A _what?”_

__Shaking his hand off, Daryl looked away self-consciously, face flushed. “A mating call,” he stated more firmly, as if he was daring Rick to laugh. “Them birdbrains don’t know the difference. Draws ‘em out, ya know?”_ _

__Clumsily, Rick tried assembling his hands how he saw Daryl do so but was at a loss. “Will you show me how?”_ _

__Daryl’s head whipped around so fast his hair flew across his face, eyes narrow and suspicious at searching Rick’s face. He left himself open, genuinely curious, and let himself be scrutinized. After a moment, Daryl nodded once and raised his hands together, replicating his bird call and waiting for Rick to poorly mimic him, before touching his thin lips to his thumbs as a sort of makeshift mouthpiece._ _

__Rick watched him closely and blew, frowning when nothing happened. He tried again and once more after that, to no avail. Daryl cracked a crooked smile and held out his precious crossbow to Rick, who stared at him with wide eyes._ _

__“Ya can’t call fer shit. Lessee how ya do with a real weapon.”_ _

__The opaque metal was warm to the touch from Daryl’s body heat as Rick gingerly took it into his hands. The weight was unfamiliar and oblong in his hands, both strikingly similar and glaringly unlike his Colt, and he tried his best to balance it in his inexperienced grip. He didn’t fail to catch Daryl’s smirk hidden behind his hand._ _

__“You sure about this, Daryl?” he asked tentatively._ _

__Daryl nodded. “Least I can do since yer helpin’ me out ‘n all…” the soft, timorous cadence had bled back into his voice and struck that peculiar chord somewhere in Rick’s chest, thundering and unignorable. Rick opened his mouth, wanting to say anything to his companion to soothe that tremor in his voice, when Daryl made the hen call again. It filled up the glade with the sharp sound and Rick snapped his mouth shut, moment lost._ _

__The sun was nearing somewhere around four pm and Rick started to wonder if they were going to leave empty handed when they finally heard a gobbling coming from across the clearing. Rick and Daryl tensed, a jolt of excitement running between the two as they watched a large, plump turkey clucking and strutting from the tall grass._ _

__“There he is,” Daryl muttered, eyes locked on the noisy bird. “You ready ta use that?”_ _

__Rick exhaled and shot Daryl a confident smile. “Ready as ever.”_ _

__“Ya wanna aim between hoss’ head ‘n body,” he noted, handing Rick an arrow to load. Rick did so under Daryl’s instruction, heart pounding for a reason he couldn’t place. This whole situation had his adrenaline surging in his veins, making him feel like some trainee from back in the day taking his first shot._ _

__The rookie trying to get his first bullseye._ _

__The greenhorn hellbent on impressing his captain, his deputy, his girlfriend with steady hands and an ace shot._ _

__When had he turned into that man again? That drive had been buried with the uniform, entombed with his wife he had thought, yet it had somehow wormed its way into his impulse again without him realizing. Rick trained his sights on his crowing target with both eyes open, holding the crossbow up like Daryl showed him, before pulling the weighted trigger._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More on the way. Share your thoughts? :)
> 
> Next chapter marks the start of the fluff. Just beta'ing through it, for now. :) Thank you again, redneckwoman! She's really just phenomenal. As are you for reading! Thank you :D


	6. Marksmanship

.:Marksmanship:.

Pain, reflux, and a sharp curse filled Rick’s senses as his arms jerked from the recoil of the expended bow. An estranged embarrassment overcame the hot pain spasming in his trigger hand as he and Daryl watched the turkey flounder away, shrieking and squawking.

“Think ya nicked it, at least,” Daryl said with an amused chime.

Rick was too busy inspecting his hand to notice where the turkey had gone. From the bottom knuckle of his thumb to the start of his forefinger was a long, welting gash just starting to leak red down his wrist. “Nicked myself, too.”

Daryl turned to him and cursed when he saw the laceration, yawning all blood and frayed skin. It wasn’t deep, but it hurt like a _bitch_ , Rick noted. The hunter produced a bandana from his back pocket and gestured for the other man’s hand, who gave it to him without a second thought. Rick watched Daryl work, first wiping away the blood trailing down to his jutting wrist bone, then dabbing at the crimson pooling in the wound. He grabbed the canteen from his hip and uncapped it, and when Rick saw he steeled himself for the harsh bite of alcohol but was surprised when he was met with the cool kiss of water pouring through his skin.

With unexpectedly delicate fingers, Daryl tended to Rick’s cut with the sheer grace of a highly seasoned sufferer. Rick wondered at the man’s ability to pamper and doctor injuries -- it was likely that the gash would have gone unattended until it either scabbed over or became infected if it was just up to Rick’s medical expertise. He felt a surge of appreciation for the other man that he couldn’t quite express.

After Daryl tied the meticulous knot to finish his equally meticulous work, Rick drew his hand back and offered a nod and a, “Thanks.”

Daryl shrugged off his gratitude, as Rick knew he would, and reattached his canteen to his hip. He stood up and strode into the clearing with Rick following suit, knees popping embarrassingly when he rose. The older man still had a tight grip on the crossbow with his left hand, lugging it around awkwardly and feeling the smouldering effects of his failed shot. Daryl grabbed and tested the arrow for any fractures while Rick cradled his right hand.

“And sorry,” he motioned towards where the bird had scampered off. “For that.”

Again, Daryl shrugged as he knelt and analyzed the frazzled grass. “S’all good. Ya clipped ‘em well ‘nough; sucker can’t get very far.”

Rick smiled half-heartedly at him and trailed after him when he started tracking into the forest again. This time Rick left Daryl alone to do his work, stewing in his failure, and was taken aback when the other man started talking to him first in the midst of his investigation.

“Same thing happened ta me my first time,” Daryl spoke, touching a strand of grass painted red. “Didn’t keep my hand low ‘nough on the trigger and the retention spring got me.”

Looking over his shoulder, Daryl drew his right hand up for Rick to see. His hand was rough and wide and a long, silvery scar puckered the skin between his thumb and forefinger, same as Rick’s. It was thin, withered from many years passed, but was visible against the tan of Daryl’s skin and seeing it plastered a crooked smile onto Rick’s face.

“Piece o’ shit nearly took my thumb clean off,” Daryl snorted humorously.

Rick laughed and felt oddly connected to the man, as if he had just passed some initiation rite and was now part of the two-man crew, their little secret from the rest of the group, the rest of the world. He found that he quite liked that idea, actually. It might have even been comforting if it wasn't so damn uncomfortable.

“Maybe we should start a club,” Rick joked.

Daryl snorted, stepping through the foliage with quiet steps. “Don’t see Carol ‘r Hershel ‘r no-one signing up any time soon.”

“Fine by me,” shrugged Rick, trying to keep his voice light despite the gravity he felt in the words. Rick had always enjoyed Daryl’s presence, though it was usually adulterated with Shane or Lori or someone’s judgmental shadow before. Now that it was just the two of them, it was unbelievable to Rick how well they seemed to mesh -- there was no endless stream of questioning like there was with Shane, or constant insistence that he speak like there was with Lori. There was no nagging feeling that he wasn’t a good enough father, husband, leader, human. With Daryl by his side, Rick was astonished to learn what it felt like to be himself again.

He only hoped Daryl hadn’t taken him as seriously as he had meant it and refused to look at him for any kind of clarification. Silence stretched between the two men, Rick catching Daryl watching him out of his peripheral vision, when Daryl stopped him with a raise of his palm and nodded towards a small opening in the trees before them.

There, just a few yards away, was the turkey in a far worse condition than earlier. Feathers dangled from it’s left leg which was awkwardly splayed out, splintered and fragmented from Rick’s poor shot. He pitied the thing, really.

“Here,” Daryl held out the arrow to him, which was quickly loaded. “Round two.”

“Second time’s the charm?”

Rick exhaled nervously, not wanting to botch the shot again. This was his chance to redeem himself, and God help him if he screwed up for the second time in a row. For sure, there was no way the younger man would let Rick live it down if he mutilated the wild turkey again with a miss. He swallowed, setting his feet apart to sturdy himself, and raised the crossbow to his trail of sight.

The bird clucked and swayed piteously, propping itself up against a tree dismally. Rick could feel himself swaying and gritted his teeth to brace himself, shoulders tight and arms stiff.

He nearly shot the arrow out of surprise when he felt a warmth up against his back, matching his posture and buttressing his form. Butterfly touches grazing up his arms to his hands nearly stopped his heart entirely, blood turning to ice and head becoming light. His chest was constricting and exploding all at once at the unconventional proximity, suffocating so pleasantly that Rick began to see stars, asphyxiating from something terrified and wild inside of him. He wasn’t getting any air, it seemed, and he didn’t want to do anything to stop it.

“Breathe,” the gravelly voice in his ear whispered, hot breath caressing his neck and jolting life into him violently.

Rick’s heart rate jumped to his eardrums, returning to him thunderously adventitious, almost as distracting as the gentle rise and fall of a broad chest against his shoulder blades. As suddenly as he had turned to ice, Rick was now hot all over; his neck was burning, his arms had trails scorched into the entire length of them from ghostly fingertips, his heart was ignited in something, _something_ , desperate to be felt, painfully, welcomingly.

Daryl’s calloused hands were now at Rick’s, hesitantly covering them with his own, and Rick could just barely feel the frenzied hammering within the chest at his back. He restrained himself, agonized over pressing against the firm body cocooning him from behind, starving for _something_ ; nearly biting through his tongue to keep himself in check. He had no capacity to feel worried about the state he was in, no room in his feverish heart to wonder at this suffocating susceptibility, just these hands, this breath, this man --

There was a gentle stroking at his bandaged injury which caused him to flutter his heavy lids, pain mixing in with the frenetic tingling, and the fingers guided his to the trigger. Rick swallowed, trying to right himself, to steady his shaking hands, but felt his chest lurch at the sight of Daryl’s scar resting just on top of his bandana. 

This man was unbelievable. 

Rick could feel Daryl changing his position for him, moving Rick’s arms with his own, nudging Rick’s hips straighter with his own, and Rick felt a jolt of that something all over. He shoved the nameless affect far into his fiery heart and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the light touches coating his normally neglected body, focusing what little attention he had left on the broken poultry in front of him. 

Daryl’s trigger hand covered Rick’s protectively from the string’s whiplash and together, they pulled the trigger. The recoil was minimal this time, just barely sending Rick back into Daryl, and there was no flash of pain in his hand. Rick could hardly hear the _twang_ of the release and the _thud_ of the arrow over his own adrenaline, but the body against his didn’t linger for long after that. 

The warmth left him with only the tingling memory of the man’s company as Daryl walked off towards their kill. “You were right,” he said, keeping his back to Rick as he yanked out the arrow. “Guess the second time’s the charm.” 

Heart still thudding painfully, Rick couldn’t even bring himself to smile. In the few moments it took for Daryl to come up behind him and conduct him to the proper form, he could feel himself unraveling at his core. Just what the hell was that? His body had been pretty depraved of any kind of human touch the past few months, but that reaction to Daryl wasn’t exactly settling or even called for. The man was his best friend, for Christ’s sake. 

And a _man_ , he added in, almost as an afterthought. 

Rick fidgeted with the crossbow, which now felt like melting chocolate in his sweaty palms, before deciding to approach Daryl. The man stiffened at his approach, clearly unwelcome, and kept his back facing him. Without a word, the hunter sat down cross legged and pulled the limp turkey into his lap and began defeathering it, yanking out plumes by the handful and filling the air with them. 

Silently, Rick watched him, not quite knowing what to say. He felt cold, empty almost, and the air was filled with a sickening lull. And feathers, everywhere, of all shades brown and white. Suppressing a shiver, Rick wondered absently whether the cold was from the setting sun or the lack of Daryl’s touch and looked up at the sky to check their time of day. 

“It’s getting late,” he muttered. Daryl didn’t look up, didn’t say anything, just aggressively plucked at the feathers. Rick sighed and crouched down in front of him. “Daryl, we gotta get goin’ soon. The others’ll start to worry.” There was an almost guilty ring to his voice, and Rick couldn’t place why. Daryl still wouldn’t look at him, the turkey very nearly naked now, goosebump skin all pale and pimpled. 

“Ain’t my fault yer a shit shot,” he grunted disdainfully. Rick frowned at the resurfacing of his attitude, tucking his head to try and meet his gaze, but the man wouldn’t look at him. 

“Daryl,” Rick mitigated soothingly. This sure as hell wasn’t the time for Daryl to close off to him again, and Rick wanted to get his foot in the door of his companion’s walls before he sealed himself away. At the sound of his name, Daryl glanced up him at him, gaze held for a moment by Rick’s open face. 

In that look was a moment of tranquility between the two, Daryl’s scowl softening, his riled hands stilling, and Rick heartstrings sore from the constant strain. 

Rick was going to say something, an apology, an explanation, but words were lost to him. All he could focus on was the somber look on the man’s face and the awry feather dangling in his hair. Before he could think to do otherwise, Rick reached up automatically and let his fingers stroke through Daryl’s hair to seize the lost plumage, running his knuckles down the man’s locks as he extracted the feather. He took note of how silky his hair felt to the touch, still freshly washed from his shower that morning and not yet tangled and grimey from the sweat of the day. 

Slowly, sheepishly, Rick held the feather out to Daryl as if it gave some explanation for his actions, never breaking eye contact. Neither did Daryl look away as he awkwardly took it from him, thin mouth parted slightly in some emotion Rick had never seen on his face before. 

Confusion. 

Hope. 

Fear. 

_Something._

Rick cleared his throat, ready to say something, when they simultaneously heard rumbling from outside the clearing they were in. Both of them stiffened at once, heads swinging round in all directions, as that was the nature of the sound. Wheezing and snarling accompanied the rustling in the trees and the men were on their feet at once. Rick’s heart sunk as he saw the first walker stumble forth from the brush. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me if this fluff was too over the top or not. I'm still trying to get the hang of this whole writing business. Thank you so much for reading!


	7. Lifeline

.:Lifeline:.

_“Shit!” ___

__They both cursed and turned back to back to face the oncoming corpses, waxen arms outstretched and hungry towards the whirling duo. Rick yanked off his jacket and tossed it to Daryl, who quickly made a makeshift body bag out of it for the turkey, while Rick charged at his first approaching walker with the crossbow, meleeing her to the ground and stomping her face in. Daryl kicked the next walker to the ground after her, and tugged Rick’s sleeve when he spotted an opening._ _

__Dozens of walkers were now gimping towards them from numerous directions and with a mutual nod exchanged, the men made a break for it, barreling over any walker to get between them and survival._ _

__Rick’s head was swimming, the levity felt moments ago annihilated by the sudden appearance of danger, and tried to focus on their next course of action. He had to swallow the shame of momentarily forgetting the world around them and the constant threat of death that was following them everywhere like a bloodhound. It was stupid to get so distracted, whatever the reason, and made for an unfit leader, he reprimanded._ _

__Now, they were running for their lives. Did they have any right to have stopped in the first place?_ _

__Groaning, bellowing, all around them walkers were desperate for their meal and kept forcing the two men off course. Not that Rick had any sense of what direction they were headed, he just dodged one after the other, swinging Daryl’s crossbow at this or that. The other man, without his weapon of choice, dexterously slammed his hunting knife to the temples of impeding walkers and threw them aside like ragdolls._ _

__“This way!” Daryl directed breathlessly._ _

__Not in any place to question, Rick nodded and followed him, heart rate spiking when a stout walker came towards them with his fat belly flayed open and rotting entrails dangling to his knees. Rick fumbled for an arrow knocked in the quiver attached to the bow and loaded it as quickly as he could, lifting the sights to his eyes and bearing in mind to keep his hand lower on the trigger. Exhaling, mimicking his stance from earlier as best as he could without Daryl’s guidance, Rick pulled the trigger and embedded an arrow into the girthy walker’s head. It jerked back, likely snapping its neck from the sheer velocity of the arrow to boot, and collapsed in front of the men._ _

__“When did ya learn ta shoot?” Daryl smirked as Rick handed him his beloved crossbow back._ _

__Christ, did this man only know playful banter when their lives were on the line? “Had a good teacher, I guess,” Rick responded, reaching down to tug at the arrow. It wouldn’t come loose, instead yanking the walker’s fat head up in resistance like a bobble head with a broken neck and an appetite for human flesh._ _

__At Rick’s hunched back was a loud gurgle as he struggled to work the bolt from the bone it was housed in and before he could turn around, Daryl threw himself to the source. Snarling, the hunter drove his knife into the sneaking walker’s temple and tossed it back limply, then turning his snarl on Rick who was still struggling with the arrow and his boot on the walker’s chin._ _

__“Leave it.”_ _

__Rick protested, insisting that he could feel the bone beginning to give. “I got it.”_ _

__Suddenly, two more walkers followed suit after their cadaverous kin, and Daryl grabbed Rick’s shoulder. All playfulness had left his face. “It’s snagged. Leave it.” This time, Rick nodded and let go, trailing after Daryl as he led them through the trees to an assumed safety._ _

__~~~~~_ _

__“Saw this earlier when I was lookin’ fer a clearing,” Daryl said, voice gruff with the exertion of self-preservation. Or Rick-preservation, he noted sheepishly._ _

__Rick looked at the road splayed out in front of them, a freeway stretching due north and south, and at the lone car tilted on the side of the street opposite the two of them. It was a Dodge Neon, rusted and ravished, but with doors and windows. The gurgling of the horde behind them was persistent and Rick would have been impressed if he wasn’t so downright exhausted from fight and flight -- they had fled for over a mile and had slain over half a dozen walkers, easily._ _

__“Christ,” he breathed, filling his lungs the best he could, “Yer a lifesaver, man.”_ _

__Daryl snorted and headed towards the car. “Wait until after I save yer ass ta say that.”_ _

__The two men practically sprinted to the car, praying they wouldn’t have to pick a lock or break a window with a good fifty or so corpses on their tail. Daryl tested the handle and Rick’s heart heaved when it clicked open, stunned by the shift of luck. Wasting no time, Daryl threw open the creaking door and tossed in the turkey, still wrapped in Rick’s ruined jacket, and climbed in. Rick practically lunged in after him, slamming the door behind him and locking it while Daryl locked the other doors._ _

__Not even seconds later, they saw the first walker emerge from where they had been just sickening moments ago. There was a shuffling next to him and Rick turned to see Daryl tearing off his poncho, leaving just his winged vest and undershirt beneath. Before Rick even had time to wonder at his actions, Daryl threw it over the two of them, cloaking them in the rough fabric and earthy smell, and gathered next to him._ _

__Their breathing was heavy and tension filled what little space was left between them, nerves alight with the weight of the situation. They both drew their legs up and under their wool shield, unable to keep their knees from brushing together, and waited for impending bedlam._ _

__The first bump against the car was hardly noticeable but was enough for the two men to suck in their breaths, staring at each other with wide eyes. With bated breaths, they both reached for their knives and drew them slowly as the groaning came alarming close to the back of Rick’s head. Rick forced himself to stay still as the screech of something heavy smearing on a pane of glass shrilled in his ears, splitting his skull and knotting his stomach. He wanted so badly to cover his ears, close his eyes, run screaming from the car, but instead opted for fortify himself by staring at Daryl._ _

__Daryl was watching him like a hawk with his almighty eyes, knife hand ready and tense when there was the clicking of what sounded like teeth on the window behind Rick. The confidence that blossomed in Rick at the sight was fleeting due to the wheezing nearly in his ear, but he clenched his jaw and waited for an eternity._ _

__Decades, lifetimes later, Rick filled his lungs with relief when the clicking left them, sliding across the Neon and stumbling past. He saw Daryl also exhale and relax his grip and the two men shared small, victorious smiles with each other at the departure of the body trying to bite through the car. The lull was short lived, and their smiles dropped when they heard more solid _thuds _press to the car.___ _

____Rick tightened his grip on his ocelot and tried to keep his horrified shiver from coming to fruition, swallowing down his fear and overwhelming desire to peek out over Daryl’s poncho._ _ _ _

____He knew what his eyes would be met with. He had seen firsthand the look of corpses trying to claw into a car, slowly tearing a vehicle apart to get at their prey if need be, and he had no reason to see it now and put the both of them in considerably more dire danger._ _ _ _

____It was painfully obvious that Daryl’s quick thinking was the only chance of salvation they had. Rick knew they were both apt at dispatching walkers, but Rick hadn’t seen a horde this large gathering independently since the farm and couldn’t imagine putting the both of them at such a high risk with such a low probability of survival. Not if they both wanted to survive, and Rick couldn’t fathom the idea of continuing on without Daryl -- he had no idea how Shane managed to live with himself after sacrificing someone to the ravenous dead. No, staying hidden was their only means to live through this, the both of them._ _ _ _

____The car was shaking with the pressure of bodies piling against it, and Rick had a horrible moment of worry that the mass of corpses would manage to tip the car over on it’s already slanted perch._ _ _ _

____His fight or flight reaction, already worn thin, had him tense and ready to flee once more before a rollover took place, but one look at Daryl had him rooted to the spot. Daryl’s hand holding his knife was lax, blade out to the side, as he gestured down with his palm, signaling Rick to calm down, and his glowing blue eyes were firmly on his. Rick kept his eyes on Daryl’s the entire time as the growling and garbling rose to a crescendo, rattling the car wildly with the chorus of raspy cries of hunger and desperation._ _ _ _

____Eventually, the pressure on the car started to disperse, scraping past and continuing onwards past them. The two men remained huddled close, breathing still, eyes fierce, and hearts pounding. Rick could practically feel the resounding thumping of Daryl’s heartbeat, betraying his outer calm for the frenzy inside._ _ _ _

____The grating on the Neon’s body began to ease up, less and less pressure threatening to tip them over, and the terror gnawing at Rick’s frayed nerves began to dissipate. Had they really manage to survive this walking horde of necrotic peril?_ _ _ _

____Unbelievable._ _ _ _

____But soon enough, the noises were gone entirely, and something akin to ecstatic fervor flooded the areas of his brain previously occupied by sheer dread. Rick hung his head, feeling lifeless from the stress, and heaved a massive sigh of relief. His shoulders startled when he felt Daryl’s head bow as well, resting against Rick’s and dangling his long bangs around Rick’s cheeks._ _ _ _

____Rick froze, too tired, drained, and blissful to move and instead flicked his eyes to Daryl’s cool ones. He was staring back into him, face soft and worn._ _ _ _

____“Thank you,” Rick whispered, his breath buffeting Daryl’s face._ _ _ _

____Daryl nodded, hair framing Rick’s face delicately. Suddenly, Rick became acutely aware of how close they were beneath Daryl’s poncho and how blazingly hot the air between them was. It was making it quite difficult to breathe, Rick’s breaths coming in heated and shallow, and being this close to Daryl’s face gave him enough insight to realize that the other man, too, struggled to breathe. Slowly, painfully slow, Rick drew back away from Daryl and dared to peek his head out from the fabric. Cooler air came rushing to him and the first thing, the only thing, he saw was smeared blood and spit and gristle garnishing the entire right exterior of the Dodge Neon in thick sheets._ _ _ _

____He could hardly see out the windows, practically opaque with gore, but couldn’t make out anymore remaining walkers as far as he could tell. Ease washed over him like a baptism and he could feel how tender his muscles were from straining for so long, clenching and unclenching his hands to relieve them._ _ _ _

____“We’re good,” he informed Daryl, damn near giddy in his reveling._ _ _ _

____There was no response, no movement at all, from the man still beneath his poncho and Rick looked down at his companion questioningly. There was no way he didn’t hear him. Just in case, he nudged him and said his name._ _ _ _

____“Daryl?”_ _ _ _

____When that elicited no response either, Rick grasped the hem of the poncho and drew it back to look at the man underneath worriedly. Daryl looked up at him, still huddled over as if there were some threat remaining in the vicinity, bunched up and vulnerable all over._ _ _ _

____“Hey,” Rick lowered his voice soothingly. “It’s safe now.”_ _ _ _

____Daryl scoffed at him, that usual scowl sinking right back into place on his lips now that the danger had passed. “No shit.” He threw the poncho off of him and stretched, a little sliver of stomach flashing above his jean waistband, and quickly sheathed his hunting knife. Moments later, without another word, Daryl clambered into the driver’s seat and starting fiddling around._ _ _ _

____“What’re you doin’?” the older man asked, trying to peer over the seat to see what Daryl was up to._ _ _ _

____He was silent for a moment, ignoring Rick while he shuffled through nooks and crannies of the car’s interior, then eventually produced a set of keys dangling from a keychain. There was a decaying rabbit’s foot -- atrociously ironic, Rick mused -- and a tiny picture of someone’s family gathered together in their Sunday’s finest, forced smiles and all. Rick grimaced and looked away from it, feeling that lead in his bones thickening at the sight of them. The last thing he needed at the moment was to start seeing his phantom wife walking around outside, or worse: sitting in the driver’s seat._ _ _ _

____“M’ gettin’ us the hell outta here,” spoke Daryl roughly and stuck the car key into the ignition. Before Rick had the chance to protest, Daryl turned the key and was met with a lazy clicking from the engine. Frowning, Daryl tried the ignition a few more times before leaning back to glare at the ceiling of the interior._ _ _ _

____“Shoulda known,” he spat, closing his eyes. “Ain’t never had no goddamn _Dodge Neon _do me any good.”___ _ _ _

______Rick held back his laughter at their situation, how frustratingly volatile their luck had been just today, and climbed into the front passenger seat, careful not to disturb his partner. When he righted himself in the seat, he looked over to see Daryl watching him from his lounging position back against the headrest._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Think this’s for the best, anyway,” Rick nodded towards the setting sun out the windshield, thankfully still relatively clean save for some bird crap and dirt._ _ _ _ _ _

______Daryl’s eyes narrowed at him. “Being stranded?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“No,” Rick said patiently, “Keeping that horde away from our family.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Daryl paused before he nodded and looked away and out of his window, giving Rick the feeling that the man was sulking and didn’t really want to hear what was his companion had to say. It was just as frustrating, if not more so, how fickle Daryl’s mood was when interacting with Rick. The man left Rick winded and swaying with his temperamental affections, first hot then cold, and Rick quite frankly didn’t know how to appease or satisfy the hunter._ _ _ _ _ _

______He had a faint inkling that he was missing something crucial from the big picture, but found himself too timid to ask. Any time he tried to bring it up and verbalize their situation, one look at Daryl sent his confidence spiraling. It was irritatingly uncharacteristic of him, but he couldn’t pull himself together._ _ _ _ _ _

______If he was going to be honest with himself, he was a godawful mess over this._ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick had always had a soft spot for the younger man, and his best friend and wife had never failed to give him shit over it. _Ya wanna take that redneck as yer wingman, you be my guest, _Shane had sneered jeeringly. There was an insinuation there, somewhere, and he knew the rest of their group had heard it, but Rick was deaf to it at the time.___ _ _ _ _ _

________Even Lori had grown skeptical of their relationship, ironically enough. When Rick had first arrived on their camp and reunited with her, she nearly bit his head off with acidic envy when he left with Daryl to try and save Merle. From there, his normally loving and nurturing wife turned green in her passive aggression whenever Daryl was involved -- the time they left the group in the woods looking for Sophia, the time Daryl was shot and Rick had to carry him to Hershel, all the times Rick so much as glanced at him for too long and Lori was in a spitting rage of cutting remarks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Once it came out that she had been involved with Shane, Rick had the bittersweet luxury of getting to have a conversation with Daryl without her ripping into him. It was the only silver lining Rick could find in his wife’s affair and he clung to it desperately, looking at and talking to Daryl whenever he wanted without reproach._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________When it had meant Lori’s relationship with Shane could have been anything but something horribly crushing, Rick adhered to it like a madman. He became practically attached to Daryl’s hip, finding his outlet in the only thing good about his wife’s straying. He could finally breathe around the man without having his wife hovering, as she no longer had the right. It felt vindictive to build something as intimate as what he had with Daryl, and Rick was not normally a vindictive man._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Looking back, Rick could see that was when their partnership had really started to blossom._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Not that it amounted to much lately. Whatever attunement the two had nurtured together the past year seemed to flounder into tender touches and cold shoulders. The acid in his veins was biting as he thought bitterly that Lori must be rolling in her grave. Metaphorically, anyway._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Rick turned on his side, completely wound up from _something, _and tried to settle in with the oncoming dark. He glanced up at Daryl’s image reflected in his gruesome side window and cleared his throat.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Which means we’re gonna have to stay the night.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all weren't as disappointed in this chapter as I was. My god, I cringe reading this over and over, but it's time to send it off with a pat on the back and a wish of good luck. The next chapter I have is all typed out and ready, and actually something I feel rather good about. My beta sure flipped for it, so let's look forward to the next few days, okay? (Reading over this chapter made me realize I had inadvertently made Daryl trying to make the first move in his own Daryl way. Hope that's okay.)
> 
> I have no idea how to get rid of that stupid first note, sorry about that.


	8. Nostalgia

.:Nostalgia:.

It was now well into the night and Rick shifted in his seat uncomfortably, knowing how worried everyone back at the prison would be from his and Daryl’s absence. It bothered him to think of doing that to Carl, but there was no way he was going to risk bringing that mass of walkers back to their doorstep unannounced. No, as cramped and as awkward as it was inside this Dodge Neon, Rick knew it was for the best. The two men could make their way back to the prison come morning, when the horde had hopefully stumbled miles away, and were in no danger of sabotaging their own camp.

Rick’s eyes flicked up to his window, now a flat mirror from the dark mess made onto it by the walkers pressing their faces against it, and examined his companion.

Daryl was laying on his side, facing away from Rick, with the driver’s seat reclined back as far as it could go and completely mimicked Rick’s slanted position. The other man had been silent all night since the walker attack and Rick couldn’t quite figure out what caused him to shut off so vehemently.

Thinking back to the rest of their day, Rick felt strangely disappointed by Daryl’s current behavior. Daryl had specifically asked him to join in on today’s hunt to find help in the Thanksgiving matter, a confidant to confess his lack of convivial experience to, and he really had opened up to Rick. Rick had been shocked to hear Daryl talk about his past, pushed to anger when he heard what life had been like for Daryl every year around this time. It really stirred something in Rick, some furious protectiveness for the other man and a damn near longing to treat Daryl to a Thanksgiving he deserved for once in his life.

After that moment of unguarded honesty from Daryl, they felt like comfortable friends to Rick, that trusting, sacred bond between them back and burning brighter than ever. Daryl didn’t even mind Rick following him around like some puppy back in the forest, absorbing all of the information that he could, and Rick found that he was surprised at how patient and gentle of a teacher the other man made.

He was learning so much about the hunter, more than the difference between turkey and geese or how to attract a turkey as a mate, and Rick found himself craving more.

Daryl had even been so warm-hearted as to let Rick use his precious crossbow, something he had never seen the man do before, and felt some kind of connection to him that he couldn’t imagine with anyone else in the world. Quite frankly, Rick had never met another man like Daryl and couldn’t imagine such a gratifying feeling just from learning more about someone coming from anyone else. Daryl was unique, in his behaviors, his looks, his touches --

Rick could have slapped himself.

The touching. The feather. The closeness. Was that Daryl’s problem? Could that be what was setting him off and walling himself away so often today? Rick closed his eyes, embarrassment flooding his vision in waves of light behind his eyelids as he squeezed them shut. God, he was an idiot.

He was alienating the man. The poor guy couldn’t even bear to stand hugs when they came his way, dodged slaps on the back and shrank away from outstretched hands like they were going to hurt somehow. It never left Rick with the best of feelings, but he had always tried to respect Daryl’s personal space, which was both massive and dear to the younger man. He’d sometimes have to stop himself mid-reach or mid-grasp, such an innate and innocent manner of Rick’s met with Daryl’s rigid, impenetrable blockade.

And just what had he done today? Crossed the line somehow, the boundary of personal space shattered into a million uncomfortable pieces, never to be glued back together again quite the same way.

Was it the feather? Rick mused to himself. Daryl looked on the cusp of something, _something _, when Rick had unthinkably reached right into Daryl’s cherished bubble to pluck the turkey feather from his hair with all the tact of a walker. Or was it… There was no way Daryl could have any idea of the reaction Rick’s body had when he had touched him like that. But if he had, it could easily explain why Daryl was now giving him the cold shoulder. Rick kept his eyelids squeezed tight, mortified, at how badly he screwed up. If Daryl had any inkling of how thoroughly undone he had driven him, how Rick had been practically putty under those fingertips, he could see why Daryl would opt to give Rick the cold shoulder.__

__To be honest, Rick was surprised the other man hadn’t run as far as he possibly could have from the situation, even if Rick’s response had been completely involuntary and equally surprising to him._ _

__How could he even begin to explain? And would Daryl even let him?_ _

__What would he even say in the first place?_ _

_Oh, sorry about that, I haven’t exactly been touched in a while. You know how it goes._

____Rick nearly wanted to run as far as _he _possibly could in the first place. If he could manage it, he would rather not have to explain himself at all and just continue on as if nothing ever happened. Maybe that was a viable option, he ventured.___ _ _ _

______“Ya know, every year at Thanksgiving, it was always me who’d have to clean the damn turkey,” dared Rick playfully, happy to at least break the silence. He looked at the reflection of Daryl’s back hopefully, waiting for a response to come. Minutes passed, but Daryl remained silent. Rick felt the rejection like a kick in the teeth but tried again, keeping his voice light._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Lori tried the first year we were married,” his smile tightened slightly, this being the first time he brought up his late wife on his own accord since her death. “But she wouldn’t stop heaving. You’da thought she was dying.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow even to him. He looked back up at Daryl, who was watching him through the reflection of his own window, and Rick felt a flutter of confidence at the look. “Lori just hated the thought of reaching inside ‘n cleaning out all the guts ‘n stuff. So every year I’d wind up elbow deep in turkey giblets, and every year she’d still give me shit for this ‘n that. Seemed like Lori always found something ta chew me out for.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Chuckling heavily at the memories, Rick wasn’t even looking at Daryl anymore, too lost in his nostalgia, and was surprised to hear the man’s voice in response._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Hard ta imagine you guttin’ anything with how shit you are at huntin’,” Daryl was smirking in his reflection._ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick knit his eyebrows together in mock offense, happy for the feedback the other man was finally giving him. “Hey, I dug through that walker’s intestines a year ago, didn’t I?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Daryl turned his head, hiding a smile in the crook of his arm and Rick let loose a genuine chuckle at the repugnant flashback of it all. Rick and Daryl had managed to take out a walker with unspoken teamwork, already oddly in tune with each other so long ago. Rick quite nobly picked through the contents of the corpse’s stomach after Daryl did the dirty work of excoriating it open. Almost simultaneously, the two sobered up at the memory of why they had been out eviscerating walkers in the first place._ _ _ _ _ _

______There was a moment of silence and tension seeped into the mood between them as Rick thought back to those days -- the good old days, when he had a complete family there with his beloved deputy righthand-man to boot. Yet, despite the comfortable luxury of having so many loved ones alive and well, it wasn’t his wife or his best friend he had been out with that day, combing the woods to hell and back for a little girl._ _ _ _ _ _

______In fact, those invaluable faces of Lori and Shane were nowhere to be seen when it came to rescuing Sophia. Rick wallowed in his twenty-twenty hindsight for a moment at how obvious it was who really supported him then when his own loved ones, his own family, wouldn’t._ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick’s eyes found Daryl’s reflection again, chest winding tight. This man would have stopped at nothing to save Sophia, quite literally risking his own life on a daily basis to try and locate a hint to her whereabouts, an indication of her survival, anything, while Shane combated Rick at every step and Lori was content to sit by and agree with Shane._ _ _ _ _ _

______Idly, Rick thumbed at his wedding band still adhered to his left ring finger, twisting it over and over, and built up a second attempt at conversation. At this point, he had preferred their earlier silence to this solemn weight blanketing them at Sophia’s memory and tried to smooth the tension over._ _ _ _ _ _

______“One year, I just stopped.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The silence lingered for another minute, each man expecting the other to speak, but Daryl eventually glanced up at Rick’s reflection and prompted, “Oh yeah?” He sounded grateful for the change of subject._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yeah,” Rick continued, taking off his wedding ring and playing with it wistfully. “Just stopped. Decided to stay at the station late, ‘n it just became a habit every year. I’d make an excuse not to go home, ‘cause I knew I’d just get yelled at fer something or another. Least paperwork can’t call you out in front of yer son.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The was a pregnant pause before Daryl said, “Betchya Lori didn’t take too well ta that.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Naw,” he laughed flimsily and squeezed his ring in his palm. “She’d hold it over my head ‘til Christmas. She was never very good at being alone. Year ‘fore all this, she’d asked Shane to come gut the damn turkey for her.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“That’s rough, man,” Daryl was watching Rick play with the jewelry closely, eyes soft and compassionate. Rick couldn’t keep looking at them for long._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I…” Rick’s voice shook slightly and he swallowed thickly before he continued. “I pushed her to him, Daryl. Can’t even say I was surprised when I figured out what was going on between them while I was gone.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Daryl’s eyes narrowed slightly and his voice had an edge to it. “Still was uncalled for, man. She was yer wife, and that best friend ‘o yers screwed shit up for you two.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick’s laugh was bitter this time, only vaguely catching on to Daryl defending him from his own self-hate. “We were pretty screwed up ‘fore the shit hit the fan, when life was still normal. She even threatened filing for a divorce a few times ‘fore this world went to hell.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The other man was silent, and his lack of a response only spurred Rick on in his mounting ire. “Get this, she even said it in front of Carl, once -- tried to bring him into it.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Hell no,” Daryl spat, eyes alight with something ferocious and southern drawl more prevalent in his intensity. It took Rick by surprise just how genuinely angry Daryl seemed by that. “That’s crossing a line, man.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yer preaching to the choir, man,” Rick sighed and ran his empty hand through his hair, thinking absently how much Lori would have hated his longer locks, him spending the night with Daryl, everything. “We got married too young, you know? I tell ya, don’t ever marry yer first girlfriend.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick was laughing again, clenching his wedding ring tightly. Daryl scoffed at him dryly. “Pfft. Had to’ve had one first.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______As soon as the words had left him, Daryl snapped his mouth shut and buried his face back into the crook of his arm, retreating. Rick blinked, letting the words settle in for a moment, shock washing over him as he processed Daryl’s sentence. He opened his mouth, closed it, and gaped again as he tried to find a way to broach that revenue, giving Daryl’s reflection a questioning gaze._ _ _ _ _ _

______Before Rick could think of what to say, Daryl jerked around in the seat abruptly to look at Rick with a sneer plastered to his face. “Why d’you still have that, anyway?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The ring, Rick knew without even looking at Daryl. He held onto it tightly and brought his fist to his lips, brushing them with his knuckles absentmindedly while he thought about it. He knew full well that the other man was trying to change the subject and let him, not wanting to make the man feel ostracized or embarrassed. Rick would ponder on it later and consider bringing it up to Daryl at a later date, when the hunter was more willing to open up to him. After a minute, he finally answered, the other man growing more curious and strangely agitated._ _ _ _ _ _

______Somberly, Rick spoke, “I think… fer the same reason I kept my badge n’ uniform fer so long…” His voice was a gossamer ghost of the past, feeling the old tethers of a man he once was and the bridges he had yet to burn still haunting him. “A big part of me wanted to cling to the man I used to be. A man with a wife, a home and a job.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______His voice was a frail whisper, not even meant to have crossed his lips in the first place. “A good man.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Daryl, still propped up on an elbow to look at Rick’s back, hesitantly reached over and, finger by tentative finger, placed his hand on the shoulder Rick wasn’t laying on. He squeezed lightly, only felt by Rick because of his newly developed hypersensitivity towards the man, and spoke firmly._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You are a good man, Rick.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______A shudder ran down Rick’s spine, feeling completely naked and exposed under Daryl’s scrutiny. He was winded, numb save for the heavy palm at his shoulder, and was almost afraid to look up, afraid to turn over, afraid to surrender to the emotional upheaval threatening to break him. This fragile feeling was foreign to him and he nearly hated it but was too busy indulging in it._ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick swallowed hard, trying to keep a handle on the heart rending affect of Daryl’s words, utterly moved to pieces and trying not to show it._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Been a long time since I was called that,” Rick said, hating how fragile he sounded. Emotional wasn’t a light he wanted to be seen in. But the last time he heard someone even remotely calling him a good man was Hershel when they stayed on the farm last year. Rick couldn’t remember the last time he heard those words before then._ _ _ _ _ _

______Daryl’s voice had a touch of his earlier redneck bite to it when he spoke. “Well, that’s a damn sin.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Moments passed with Rick drowning in his sentiment before he said suddenly, “You are, too, Daryl.” He looked up in the window at Daryl whose face fluttered with shock before turning into a confused scowl._ _ _ _ _ _

______“A sin?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick rolled onto his back in the passenger seat to look at Daryl for real and their blue eyes met with one another, leaving Rick breathless. He didn’t know why, but Daryl needed to know this and the urgency to tell him was all consuming, as if not saying these words would be something immoral, regrettable, remembered for the rest of Rick’s life._ _ _ _ _ _

______“A good man.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Daryl’s eyes widened at him, searching for some deceit in Rick’s words as if waiting for the other shoe to drop was a reflex done his whole life. A small, delicate smile danced on Daryl’s lips when he found nothing but sincerity in Rick’s face and he shook his hair over his features to hide them. Rick discovered a desperate urge within him to move Daryl’s hair out of his face, wanting to see firsthand what a happy, flattered Daryl looked like. He was near desperate to know what it looked like when Daryl believed himself to be as good a man as any Rick had ever met, but he stilled his hand. The previous time Rick had carded through Daryl’s hair, the other man had grown distant from him and that was considerably the last thing Rick wanted in this saccharine moment._ _ _ _ _ _

______Visibly embarrassed, Daryl shifted so that he was on his back as well, staring up to the roof of the Dodge with his arms folded behind his head._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Thanks, Rick.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______His words were simple, but his tone left Rick quite proud of himself for a reason he couldn’t place. It was silly how drunk he felt simply off of Daryl’s happiness, and the fact that it was him who made him feel this way, obviously something new to Daryl, gave Rick a loopy grin. “Anytime, man.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The two fell back into silence, this time a more comforting peace between them. Rick looked at his wedding ring, still in the palm of his hand, and briefly considered what to do with it from here. He felt some conflict rising up in him, something he wasn’t ready to deal with just yet in the serene, triumphal calm washing over him. He returned his band to his finger and opted to leave the problem of what to do with it for later in favor of basking in his humming companion’s pleasure._ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick couldn’t tell how much time had passed with the two of them resting in their happy respite, but eventually the chill of the night had crept into their car, diluting the blissful body heat the two had filled it with. Still smiling, Rick found himself beginning to shiver as his warmth was sucked from him by the encroaching winter night._ _ _ _ _ _

______He caught Daryl looked over at him, arms still behind his head and lounging back in his seat, before the man propped himself up again and reached into the backseat of the car. For a moment, Rick thought that Daryl was reaching for the turkey for some wild reason and was surprised when Daryl pulled his discarded poncho into the front of the car._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Here,” he said, tossing it at Rick._ _ _ _ _ _

______Daryl looked away from Rick’s questioning gaze and stared pointedly at the ceiling again. Rick pulled the poncho open, looking from it to the owner of it, waiting for some explanation._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Can’t sleep with ya shivering like that,” Daryl shrugged roughly as if that settled the matter._ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick smiled, understanding the kindness in Daryl’s gesture despite the crass tone of voice, and spread the poncho out to the best of its length. Scooting to the edge of the passenger seat, Rick tossed part of it over Daryl, haphazardly covering them both in the thick yarn. Daryl jerked his head over to look at Rick with wondering eyes before inching closer to the edge of his seat as well to settle in under the poncho with Rick._ _ _ _ _ _

______The two men squirmed a little, bits and pieces of them going uncovered by the wool of their makeshift blanket, but neither seemed to mind, just content in each other’s company as they drifted off to sleep._ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) Let me know if they are out of character at all, okay?


	9. Exodus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own these characters nor their direct quotes emphasized in italics.

.:Exodus:.

Lori’s smile was infectious, wide and beautiful against her face. Her hair was lustrous and clean, cheeks filled and pallor radiant, and the look about her was healthy once more. Rick was smiling back and it hurt, hurt so bad somewhere within him. He was shredding apart, bloody and happy and hurting so badly and it was all he could do to smile back at her.

“Welcome home, baby,” her voice was warm and his stomach churned, veins thick with the remembrance of a time when he enjoyed that nickname.

“Hey,” he breathed, tears in his eyes and pain in his gut. 

She came towards him, wiry arms wrapping around his neck and kissing his cheek like a memoir of their early years. Rick soaked in it, letting the tears fall from his eyes and choking back the hurt in his heart. He held her there for lifetimes and when he finally looked up, he was met with the sight of Carl sitting at the dinner table smiling at him and Judith next to him, squirming in her baby seat.

“Hey, dad,” Carl was grinning, freckled face clean and free from the atrocities of their life. His sheriff’s hat was nowhere to be found, but Rick couldn’t even begin to care as he drew away from his beaming wife and stepped to his son.

“My God,” he whispered, tears flowing freely. For Christ’s sake, he was being consumed by this strange suffering inside him. It was threatening to kill him, nearly. “Carl… My boy. And my baby girl.” He placed his hands on his children respectively, squeezing them and loving him with everything he could muster.

Lori came up behind him, her thin frame wrapping behind him and her chin on his shoulder as she watched on lovingly. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.” 

She hummed happily, nuzzling his neck, and his kids were all smiles and love.

“Happy Thanksgiving, dad.”

He was breathless now and didn’t understand why his family couldn’t see just how much he was dying -- he couldn’t even ask, beg them for help anymore, just suffer in silence. Wasn’t it obvious? Why did it their touches hurt so much, their words rip into him so ruthlessly?

Lori looked straight through his misery and patted him on the shoulder instead, saying, “Why don’t you go get the turkey, hon’? Carl ‘n I will set the table.”

Rick nodded, ungluing himself from the spot and heading towards the kitchen in their rustic house, still suffocating silently. He could feel all eyes on him as he entered the archway of their kitchen and headed straight for the oven, not even stopping to equip himself with a pair of oven mitts. There was a foreboding feeling in Rick’s bones, this life too normal, and he didn’t fail to notice that the 350 degree turkey felt like air to him when he seized it from the scalding oven. Closing the door of the oven with his knee, Rick placed the turkey on the stovetop and caught a glimpse of a familiar face staring back at him in their tile.

_Shane?_

Throat tight, heart bleeding, Rick looked away from the silly image, trying to quell the roaring pain within him with deep breathes. 

“Love?”

Lori was in the doorway and Rick looked up at her, feeling oddly caged and misplaced. His gut was wrenching in his turmoil and he forced a smile to his face, replying, “Yeah?”

“You okay?” she wondered, eyeing him worriedly. “We’ve been waiting.”

Rick stuttered, looking from the tile countertop and back to her. “Y-yeah, darlin’. Sorry ‘bout that, it’ll be right out.”

She smiled and turned back around to leave him with the now carved and dressed turkey. With shaking hands, Rick grabbed the tin dish with the poultry still simmering in its own juices and walked out to the dining room, stopping in the doorway. His own family, his precious loved ones, were sitting around the hard oak table and smiling up at him, beckoning him to join them.

Lori’s smile was delicate and petite, and Rick couldn’t even begin to prepare for her next words.

“I love you.”

Her blindsiding words flowed like honey over him and that pain was now stabbing, world-consuming, infecting his open wounds and stinging him with her cloying love. His heart shuddered, not thinking he’d ever hear those words again, much less believe them, but he almost gave in to her and the sweet, sweet pain. It was all he knew, all he could remember ever feeling in his life, and it was killing him slowly, benevolently. 

Something about this felt too good to be true, too good to be right. Their holidays were never like this, never quiet and loving and thankful. Oftentimes, the two would put on a farce, a facade of happiness and camaraderie for Carl’s sake, trying to make their rough elbowing past each other in the kitchen appear to be nothing more than love taps. Rick would nudge her gently out of the way, Lori would huff in her agitation and shoulder past him. He would clear his throat, she would make some offhand comment about their overly-large kitchen being too small for the both of them. He would say this, she would say that. Step here, turn there, now dip.

They had become proficient in this dance of passive aggression, twirling in their anger and discontent at one another, smiling in front of Carl to display their hollowed affections. They would bow once the show was over with Carl tucked in and head offstage to their respective beds, worn and weary from their daily spectacle. 

That had been life for them the last Rick could remember, and this life had been his fantasy for so long. Passionate and welcoming, warm with understanding, unconditional love overflowing from their hearts. It was all Rick had ever wanted from someone and though they could never have it before, maybe, just maybe, they could just stay in this heaven and indulge in it.

Rick let himself give in.

“I…” His throat was filled with that bloody honey, sugary and sweet, and his tears tasted bitter in his mouth in contrast. With what little breath he had left, Rick managed to choke out past his tears, “I love you, too.”

His hands were trembling and his heart was stuck in his molasses throat, eyes stinging sharply as his eyes glimpsed into a mirror on the wall opposite him. He lifted his gaze from Lori’s smiling face, Carl’s twinkling eyes, Judith’s happy babbling, towards the mirror in the center of the wall. A bile churned in his stomach and his head was light, dazed, as he peered into the dark eyes of his deputy.

“Shane, baby?” Lori spoke, eyeing him with that sickeningly beautiful worry. “You look pale. Do you need to sit down?”

“Alright, dad?” Carl questioned innocently at him. Breathless, staggered, dead, Rick felt himself perishing in that moment, more painful and gruesome than any walker end. He felt the turkey plate slip from his numb hands, the pain so real he knew this had to be some hell he had transcended to, and felt a furious, thundering rage fill his bones.

Heartbroken, Rick tore through the room with a snarl, ripping the mirror from its hooks and hurling it to the wall. There were gasps around the table, a startled, “Shane!” and Rick turned around the room, crumbling at the sight of the their family pictures -- his family pictures -- framed on the wall. The day Carl was born, their last Christmas picture, him and Lori only it wasn’t. Rick wasn’t in any of these pictures. 

Shane.

_“You don’t think I would’a done whatever it took to keep Carl safe?”_

_“Nah, man. I know ya wouldn’t have.”_

His trusted deputy smiled from beneath the glass, staring back at him with coy and knowing eyes and had his arms around Lori and Carl. They were sitting at a wing joint, Rick’s favorite go-to place, and looked so happy together. Rick felt a fire in his bones, that feeling of betrayal settling in like an old friend.

Shane.

_“I’m the one who makes the calls ‘round here, Shane.”_

_“Yeah? You come back here ‘n you just destroy everything. Look around you.”_

Rick was trembling with barely controlled rage, nauseated from a feeling he hadn’t felt since Shane had last threatened his family. This man was someone Rick had given his heart to, inseparable since childhood, and had been worked into every faceted of Rick’s life, only to completely replace him in the end.

Shane!

_“That is MY wife, MY son, and MY unborn baby.”_

_“That really what you think? Is that what THEY think?”_

There were the panicked screams of his family at Rick’s fit of agony. Rick was going to be sick, quickly yanking down the foreign family pictures, mocking him. He was bent and shaking, unwilling to turn to face his, HIS family, scared of what they’d see in him. Shane? A monster? A weakling who couldn’t protect them?

What was even left to see in him, anyway?

“Rick?”

Rick’s heart exploded at his name, stars glinting in his eyes at the owner of the voice. He turned, slowly, ashamed of how hopeful he was, and the pain in his chest lunged when he saw Daryl there in all his ragged glory. The younger man wasn’t dressed nicely as Lori was, nor was he as clean faced as Carl had been, but he was a sight for Rick’s sore, aching eyes.

“Daryl?” he breathed, scared to believe that the other man might be seeing him for what he was. “What did you call me?”

The dinner table was gone, any traces of the turkey or Rick’s rustic, picturesque fantasy gone with it, and it was just Daryl standing there in the open with Carl at his side, sheriff’s hat atop his dirty head, and Judith in Carl’s arms. Daryl had a questioning look on his face, scrunched up in confusion at Rick’s question and adjusting the crossbow on his shoulder. Slowly, the hunter stepped across the open space of the forest they were now in, shadows of the treetop canopy washing across his face beautifully, and Rick straightened himself in terrified anticipation. 

“Rick.”

Daryl was walking slowly, never seeming to gain any distance as if he were walking on a treadmill, and Rick felt some strange impatience stirring in his chest at what was going to happen next. Whatever was coming, he needed it, and he needed it now while his sanity was still barely intact. Rick started moving towards Daryl, legs bending on their own according, drawing closer to the other man in his restlessness. He didn’t know what was to come, but he needed it to quell that fire within him and felt himself running through that treadmill of a feeling. 

Rick was reaching for Daryl forevermore, desperate for some salvation from himself, and Daryl was all he could see. He was worried from the feel of things that he would never find it, never reach it, but saw Daryl stretching out his arm, reaching his hand to him, and abruptly closed it over Rick’s mouth.

With a jolt, Rick woke, a heavy palm covering his mouth keeping him from making any noise. His heart was hammering from one thing or another, looking over to the owner of the warm hand covering half his face.

Daryl’s face was hard and his eyes were piercing and angry, a finger raised to his lips to hush Rick. They nodded at each other and Daryl slowly raised his hand from Rick’s face, the early morning frost crawling in to replace Daryl’s body heat. The poncho slipped from their bodies as Daryl drew his skinning knife painstakingly slow, Rick giving him a bewildered stare. With his knife now drawn with a contextually loud _shink_ , Daryl leaned in close to Rick’s ear, sending hot chills down his still groggy body.

“There’re two guys out there. Ain’t lookin’ ta make friends, neither.”

Rick’s blood turned to ice from his words despite the hot breath running along his neck. Daryl drew back, eyes dagger sharp and looking just as deadly while he peered out his window at the side mirror. Rick’s side was impossible to see out of so he craned his neck up to try and look out of the rearview mirror, searching for the offenders. From the angle of his seat, Rick could only see two torsos, one heavily equipped with an automatic rifle -- an AK47 from the looks of it, Rick swallowed -- and the other with a small, but powerful looking hand cannon.

Leaning back into the chair, too wary of making noise to raise his seat into an upright position, Rick’s mind began working a mile a minute. How could they manage to get out of this? He reached to his hip and drew his Colt from the holster, opened it as quietly as he could to check his bullets, and sheathed it again. Between him and Daryl, he knew they could kill two men easily, but there was no way they’d be able to do it without the risk of attracting that herd of walkers from last night. Rick peered across to Daryl’s side of the window and could see a few walkers careening around as is -- this fight could quickly become messy with those corpses factored in.

Sighing deeply, Rick rubbed at his temples. They didn’t necessarily need to jump to killing these two strangers right off the bat, anyway. There was a chance they could all talk it out, possibly even invite the two back to camp with them if they were flying solo.

Daryl seemed far more on edge than he was normally, so Rick quickly discounted that idea to welcome them over as he trusted Daryl’s instincts far more than he trusted these two men. The hunter had said earlier that they weren’t looking to make friends, and Rick strained his ears to find out why. He could hear the outsiders talking, feel the pressure of them leaning against the trunk of the Dodge Neon, and kept a hand on the handle of his gun. 

Just faintly, he could hear, “So what, we just gonna kill ‘em here ‘n take their stuff?”

Rick’s heart rate rose at the man’s words and tone, how cavalier he had spoken about killing them, and knew Daryl had been right to be wary of them. He looked to Daryl who was in turn watching the sideview mirror, fist tight around his skinning knife, and realized there was no way they’d likely be able to talk their way through this. Bitterly, Rick thought back to Dave and Tony in the bar they had found Hershel in a year ago, how they couldn’t have been swayed one way or another. Guilt had haunted Rick for so long over their deaths, but eventually came to terms with the fact that they wouldn’t listen to reason and had forced Rick’s hand.

Some men are just begging for death, Rick thought tersely, and these two seemed no different in their eagerness to force Rick’s hand again.

“Don’t be an idiot,” the other voice said gruffly, and Rick craned his neck to listen closer. “Look at ‘am. What do you see?”

Rick closed his eyes quickly as he glimpsed the other man leaning down to peer in through the back windshield, not wanting to be caught awake just yet. He prayed the man didn’t notice the poncho now at their feet, didn’t notice Daryl’s drawn weapon or Rick’s tense muscles, prayed the man was wholly the idiot he had been deemed. They had an advantage if the strangers still believed them to be asleep, and Rick wanted to keep it that way until they had a plan of attack.

Keeping his eyes closed, Rick heard their muted conversation resume.

“Two dudes sleeping. Why?”

“You moron.” There was a jostling and a quiet smack. “Guy’s got a crossbow and the other’s got a pretty nice gun. Looks like they’ve been eattin’ pretty good, too.”

“So?”

There was another smack. “So, that means they got some camp nearby. And if they got resources, the Governor’s gonna wanna know about it since winter’s riding our asses.”

“Okay, got it. Don’t gotta be a dick about it, Scotty.”

While Rick was tucking away any information he could about these two men, Daryl was scanning the forest through his window, eyes hot and alive with something dangerous and protective. Rick watched as he slowly reached back behind him into the rear seat of the car grabbing blindly with his eyes still on something out his window. 

“Apparently I haveta just to get anything through your thick skull,” Scotty spat.

Daryl groped until he found what he was looking for and quietly, painstakingly, slid Rick’s damp and ruined jacket into the driver’s seat with him, eyes never leaving his window. With a sickening understanding, Rick couldn’t help but admire the hunter’s quick thinking as he strained to reach the window handle and cranked the glass down. A freezing bite filled their already tense atmosphere as the window crept downwards, Daryl cranking until there was just enough room for the dead turkey to slip through. 

“What do you think the Governor’s gonna do to ‘em?”

Before lifting the turkey from his lap, Daryl tore his eyes from the walkers yards from the forest’s edge and met Rick’s eyes, waiting for his affirmation. Rick gave it to him, offering a small smile to ease the doubt in Daryl’s face -- he knew how hard it was for Daryl to sacrifice this, his first turkey, their first kill together, and knew he needed to be strong for him.

“Dunno, but I’d hate to be them.”

With Rick’s approval, Daryl flung the turkey from the window and it landed with a watery _thud_ on the ground just outside of the forest, drawing the attention of everyone around both dead and alive.

“What the hell was that?”

“Go check it out, numbnuts,” Scotty demanded. 

Rick’s pulse was thundering in his ears, adrenaline working overtime as he saw the walkers pour through the clearing in alarming numbers. The herd from last night hadn’t mulled very far from the car and Rick felt a mind-tingling fear at the thought of how exposed they had been, not just to these men but possibly just as unfortunate that they had been found by them instead.

“Biters! There’s biters, Scotty!” The unknown yelped out, turning at the sight of the corpses.

Before the strangers could get their heads about them, Rick grabbed Daryl’s arm and unlocked his car door, throwing it open. Rick hated this feeling, this sense of calm that he developed in times of hysteria -- it made him feel like a monster, as Lori had called him in so many words once, but it had so often been necessary to the survival of the group. While other men floundered in their panic, such as these two, Rick outright flourished, excelled. Men who knew fear inside and out, men who were masters of suffering, men like him and Daryl were built for this world, taking fear and pain in stride with the brush of their shoulder and finger on the trigger. 

There was gunfire and the fall of multiple walkers as the pack crept closer. Rick looked to Daryl and they nodded at each other, a silent, intimate understanding of one another yanking at Rick’s heartstrings as they fled from the car through Rick’s door. There was shouting after them, the two strangers torn between the loss of their captives and the many walkers barreling towards them. 

Rick and Daryl flew across the street, blood pumping too hot to feel the stinging cold on their jacketless skin, and there were shots at their heels. Huffing, Rick couldn’t believe it - he hadn’t factored in the men turning fire on them instead of the walkers. Before the bullets found their marks in Rick and Daryl’s backs, there was a scream and a sickening tearing of flesh, forcing the gunfire to stop. 

The two men ran into the forest, not taking the time to look behind them at the multitude of threats at their backs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know that I'll ever write dreams again - I way prefer direct action-telling to that silly surrealism that comes from dreams. However, I thought this was the best way to broach that bridge in Rick's disjointed emotions between Daryl and his wife, though I tried to be subtle in my verbosity and use more colloquialisms than normal. However, this is the briefest beginnings of the plot! Here we goooooo!!!!!


	10. Preamble

.:Preamble:.

They didn't run for long before they began to slow, lungs swollen from the thin, icy air and necks still stiff from their cramped overnighter. Their breaths came in short, painful spurts as they stopped to regroup, Rick bent and hands braced against his thighs and Daryl propped up against a tree trunk. The two glanced at each other once they had scanned their environment, relaxing in silence for a few minutes when there was no immediate danger that they could sense.

Between his shallow breaths, Rick turned to Daryl and said, “We can’t go home yet. I ain't takin’ any risks on those two following us.”

Daryl nodded at him, shrugging off his crossbow and loading it. With his arms bare, Rick could see his muscles thick and toned with the strain of cocking it and found himself mourning the sanctuary of Daryl’s poncho. It was likely to start snowing any day now. “Ya think those two survived?”

“Nope.”

Almost ironically, there was a resounding click to their right, the direction whence they ran from, and Daryl’s question was answered. A few yards to their right, one of the men that had trapped them in the Dodge Neon stood poised and scared, fear alight in his eyes and trembling in his hands, shaking the handgun within it. His clothes were torn and bloodied, hair skewed and overall looking to be a discombobulated, frantic mess, but his eyebrows were knit together in some edgy fury. Despite his terror-contorted face and shaking hands, he held the gun trained on Daryl, to which Rick felt a sickening curl in his stomach.

“Just me.”

It was the alleged idiot from the car.

Daryl looked to Rick from behind his raised crossbow, clearly ready to eliminate this threat, but Rick shook his head and slowly raised his empty hands instead. Rick could see the frown on Daryl’s face and could practically feel his reluctance from here, but the hunter complied and eventually raised his hands as well, loaded bow pointed upwards as a show of good will.

“Hey, hey,” Rick tried, voice calm. If he could talk this man down from his apparent cliff, maybe all three of them could get out of this standoff alive, but at the moment, all he wanted was that gun off of Daryl. “Maybe we can talk this out somehow -- ”

“No!” the man shouted, jerking his gun towards Rick. Next to him, he could feel Daryl stiffen, twitching with the desire to lower his crossbow again. “You shut your mouth! There ain't gonna be no talking, not after what you two did. Now get on the ground, both of you!”

Glancing at each other, Rick and Daryl slowly bent until their knees met with the wet, dewy grass, quickly dampening their jeans. The man eyed them like they were wolves that had backed him into a corner, pacing back and forth in front of them wildly and swinging the barrel of the gun from one to the other.

“Look, this has all just been one misunderstanding, nothing we can’t work through,” Rick attempted again to calm the man, but was interrupted once more.

“No, _you_ look!” the man’s voice was pitched in desperation and he inched a step closer, settling the pistol on Rick. Rick watched him warily, knowing that if he came close enough, he and Daryl could disarm and subdue him. His training on the force had taught Rick enough close quarters combat to pin someone into compliance and throughout the years had grappled with enough drunk idiots and criminal runners to know the human body’s weak points. Unfortunately, Rick also knew that every point on a human body was a weak point to bullets, making it hard to look past the firearm currently a few yards from his face. The man’s agitation was growing as he said, “Scotty’s _dead_! That’s not something we can work through. No, no, he’s dead and there’s gonna be hell to pay.

“So who did it? Was it you?” he continued, egging himself on with another step forward. He gestured with the gun towards Rick’s face and Daryl growled a low, meaningful warning that only Rick could hear. Gently, practically unnoticeable unless looking for it, Rick twitched his head ‘no’. “What, you killed my friend then start running your mouth?”

The idiot was cracking in his vindictive frenzy, lips breaking into a smile and eyes wide with what he seemed to have in mind. It was all Rick could do to keep his knees to the ground and eyes on the man, trying to be patient as he waited for the man to slip up. In times of crises, most people lost themselves to their panic eventually, which made them more dangerous and unpredictable, and Rick was just waiting for the most opportune moment, the moment when the this threat of a man lost himself. Rick had been trained to detect that moment, drilled into reacting accordingly and taking advantage of whatever slip up presented itself. It was like a reflex to take control of hectic situations at this point.

“It was you, wasn't it?” He was coming closer now and Rick felt his heartbeat working overtime as he mentally prepared himself for the upcoming altercation, just moments away, just feet away. He was waiting for the cold kiss of the barrel against his forehead to twist the man's wrist, sweep his legs out beneath him, and pin him to the ground with his knees. The twitching in his tendons and flooding of his adrenaline was like a welcoming muscle memory, damn near giddy to have the upper hand in just a few more moments, a few more steps.

“Huh, smartass?” Just inches away now. “I’m gonna kill you.” The icy metal was just so close.

Unpredictable was just so predictable anymore.

“It was me.”

Rick’s heart, working so methodically in this time of peril, stopped at Daryl’s voice. The gunman paused as well, looking from Rick to Daryl, before straightening and leaning back out of Rick’s comfortable grappling reach.

“You with the crossbow? This was your doing?” The man was breathing heavily now, all traces of his deranged smile gone in his surprise at Daryl’s admittance. Rick could have smacked himself at the opportunity now lost as the man shifted his attention to the hunter. “You drew those biters all over Scotty?”

Daryl nodded, eyes trained on the gun now faltering in his direction, shaking in the man’s hand whose mouth was agape and face washed with some delirious sadness. “Damn straight. Now you leave him outta it.”

There was a churning in the man’s skull before something menacing clicked and he shook his head. “Oh no. No, no, no.” Suddenly, the harsh steel of the gun was very close to Rick’s face again, close enough for Rick to see that the safety was off. “He’s your friend, right? Think I’ll kill him instead.”

It was a moment of madness next. Rick watched as the man moved his forefinger to the trigger, a heartbeat too late to attack as a loud blast rattled him and a searing pain gutted him, blossoming from his shoulder. A flash of movement from his right where Daryl had been was mixed with blinding pain and muddied senses, the wet ground rushing up to meet his head. Rick squeezed his eyes closed, the splitting headache from the gun being fired so close to his head ringing promises of tinnitus and muting the throbbing in his left shoulder. Grassy water seeped into his hair and clothing and was almost refreshing in this surreal moment.

There was a thud not even seconds after he fell sideways, eyes raising blearily to meet those faraway ones of the gunman. Rick watched as the life left his face, the fight left his snarl, and the blood left his body, beading up and congealing around the arrow embedded in his forehead. There were haunting moments of clarity in the man’s eyes as he must have realized in that moment that he was dead, probably dead before he had even pulled the trigger of his gun from Daryl’s faster reflexes.

Rick tried not to feel the guilt welling up in his heart as he watched the nameless man become limp and vacant, lifeless. There was no longer any one home to claim vengeance, to force Rick’s hand, and the relief Rick felt was far overshadowed by his conscious demanding penance for the life lost.

Calloused hands seized his shoulders, latching onto him with some kind of panic, and carefully drew him upright so that his hazy world was horizontal again. With his vision still muddled and conflicted with the ringing in his ears, Rick watched as Daryl mouthed his name with a haunting mutedness then squeezed his eyes shut, feeling nauseated as all hell. Rick pitched forward, so close to losing the meager berries and squirrel he had eaten the day before, and clamped his mouth shut to keep it down.

There was a tentative rubbing on his bowed back, fingertips rubbing small circles into his taut muscles that Rick barely registered as Daryl’s digits. The thought might have sent butterflies down his stomach if he hadn’t felt so much goddamn _anguish_ at the way this morning had all played out.

For the next few moments, Rick stayed kneeling with his head down, trying to keep the nausea at bay and willing the spinning in his head to stop. The shrill ringing in his ears started to dull, finally allowing him to think clearly, and Rick quickly rose a hand to each ear to check for blood while Daryl’s practiced hand grazed his wounded shoulder. Rick shivered at the pain that jolted in his arm as Daryl tore away the fabric of his shirt and pulled it back enough to give him a good look at the damage, watching Daryl’s eyes squint in his examination.

Daryl relaxed significantly and drew back with an exhale Rick could just faintly hear. “Just clipped ya. Bleedin’ pretty good, ‘n ya might need stitches, but you’ll live.”

The relief Rick felt at hearing Daryl was nowhere near the magnitude of his anger at Daryl’s choice of words, eyes flashing to Daryl’s hotly. “Yeah, well, that’s more than he can say, ain't it?” Rick, barely able to hear his own voice above the swimming in his ears, gestured to the dead man lying just a few feet away from them, but Daryl didn't need the indication to grow defensive.

“More ‘n he deserves, too,” Daryl said guardedly.

Rick shook off Daryl’s hand at his shoulder and stood up sharply, knees popping and head spinning as he stumbled away from the body. Daryl rose immediately with his hands out, looking as if he wanted to steady Rick, but Rick rose his hand to stop the younger man and braced himself against a tree instead. A look of hurt crossed Daryl’s face that Rick felt a momentary stab of guilt for, but was seething far too hotly to stop himself.

“That ain't up to us, Daryl,” Rick pressed, voice still sounding far-away, and watched Daryl’s face darken. There was something nagging at Rick, something urging him away from doing this, but he ignored it.

“The hell it ain't,” spat Daryl, Southern drawl slipping in his anger. “That sum’bitch had a gun on ya, Rick.”

Clenching his jaw, Rick tried again to reason with his irate companion. “I had a plan. I was gonna handle it.” Daryl took a step towards him, eyes sharp and narrow in his agitation, and Rick felt a twinge of wariness. Rick trusted Daryl with his life a hundred times over, but he didn't know if he put the man past punching him when he thought Rick was being careless with his own life.

“You was gonna get yerself killed, you mean.”

Rick stepped away from the tree, finally steady enough to stand his ground, and responded, “What happens when his group comes looking for him and his partner? When this ‘Governor’ finds out two of his men died patrolling ‘round these parts?”

Daryl had enough demure about him to look sheepish and stepped back, looking back at the death he had created. Rick stepped towards him, the brush around them creating morning shadows on his face as he advanced, refusing to give Daryl any leeway for his carelessness. The younger man had seemed resolved to kill their adversary before thinking of the consequences simply because Rick had a loaded gun between his eyes.

“So, what, you wanted another Randall on our hands?” Daryl struck a nerve in Rick, guilt pinching up over yet another unnecessary death on his conscious, now scarred and battered to shit. “I did what I had to, Rick.”

Anger rising, Rick continued to back Daryl up and ignored that sense of urgency inside him. “No, you killed someone without any second thought -- ”

That seemed to be the last straw for Daryl, who stopped dead in his tracks with a scowl on his face and interrupted, “Man, to hell with second thought! He forced my hand, Rick. I ain't gonna sit around while someone threatens me ‘n my own, and I sure as hell ain't sorry for wasting someone if it means…” Daryl trailed off lamely, wavering and looking away from him. Rick was stunned to silence by Daryl’s outbreak, mouth slightly open from Daryl’s terminology and diction.

_His own?_

Silence stretched on between the two and Rick felt an uneasiness in his heart, nerves eroding to dust at the stark bluntness in Daryl’s words. Rick wondered if he had misheard him, replaying his sentence in his reeling head and undressing it for whatever it could be beneath the rough voice, the sculpted jaw, the thin lips. Dizzy, Rick turned his eyes away, finding himself unable to look at the other man. He felt some expectation, a strange anticipation building with no outlet that Rick could fathom and felt at a loss of what to do with himself. There was frustration bleeding in like ink, opaque and webbing across his nerves in an evasive filigree just outside his reach of understanding.

Rick’s patience was drawing thin. He didn't like feeling like the odd man out, like he was on the outside of whatever this heart-provoking loop was between him and Daryl. A foreigner to his own damned, clenching heart.

“If it means what, Daryl?” Rick prompted gently, relinquishing his hold on his boiling anger in favor of hearing the other man out. Daryl chewed on his bottom lip, agitated, and shook his head. With his earlier temper abating, Rick starting feeling the cold air prickling at his wounds -- the subdued gash in his hand, the bullet graze in his searing shoulder, the pounding in his head. But Rick waited, as patiently as he could with this insistent drive buzzing in his veins spurring him on and away. Daryl wouldn't say any more, vulnerable all over and looking to all the world as if he were shrinking into overgrowth around them, chewing on his nail like a deliverance from himself.

“Daryl,” he spoke softly, wanting something from the younger man, something unidentifiable.

Ignoring Rick’s approach, Daryl nodded to Rick’s throbbing shoulder wound which was now a harsh, angry red and leaking down his arm at a worrisome rate. “Ya need some pressure on that.” The words were posed more as a statement than a question and Rick said nothing as Daryl stepped closer to him, reaching up to take the last shreds of Rick’s left sleeve and managing to create a small bandage over the lesion. His broken skin pulsed painfully beneath the pressure of the knot, but Rick was grateful for his work once more.

“Are ya always gettin’ hurt this much?” Daryl cracked a smirk forcefully, trying to change the subject. “It’s a wonder yer still alive at all. Yer spatial awareness is shit, man.”

Rick opened his mouth to respond, but his playful response died in his mouth and his heart froze over for the hundredth time today as he saw the decaying forms of walkers stumbling in their direction. Suddenly, all he could see was Daryl as he arm-barred the hunter in the chest with one forearm, driving him back and into a tree surrounded by foliage until they were as hidden as could be.

Daryl’s eyes were wide with surprise, then narrow with confusion as his back was braced against the trunk of the tree Rick pushed them into. Rick’s hand flew to Daryl’s mouth, covering it and shaking his head ‘no’ to him as the walkers approached. The two men huddled into the overbrush, dying plantlife hopefully obscuring them enough to anything with half a brain, and when Rick felt confident that Daryl wasn't going to make any noise, removed his hand to draw his knife. Daryl followed suit, equipping his blade silently as the first walker stumbled past them.

Their breaths were held and their bodies stilled as two or three more bumbled past. Rick felt like an idiot for ignoring his natural instincts in favor of quarreling with his companion, realizing now what that sense of urgency had been driving him from. That gunshot that had crippled Rick’s faculties was sure to draw that herd of walkers, the mindless cattle that they were, and Rick had shamefully put that on the backburner.

From their positions, Rick covering Daryl’s body with their chests touching lightly, Rick could feel Daryl’s heartbeat, wild and erratic, and wondered vaguely if the other man could feel his own. The thought was comforting, soothing in an inauspicious way.

They stood like that as the minutes ticked by, chest to chest, breathing as lightly as possible and trying not to rattle the wilted leaves with their trembling.

With Daryl watching his back at the walkers migrating away, Rick took the liberty to peek past Daryl and through the dead branches of their little cavern at the rest of the horde. Numerous of the dead were piling on top of each other, trying desperately to get at the body of the man they downed just minutes ago. They were literally yards away from them, but were all distracted by the meat now lain open for them and feasting grotesquely.

Looking back into the hunter’s eyes, Rick nodded meaningfully, trusting their intimate and nonverbal connection to communicate to Daryl that this was their chance. Daryl looked up and around, scanning the area behind Rick, before nodding back. The two men fled the grisly banquet and Rick found himself wishing for the first time in a long while that life could be different, without the constant threat of the undead at their heels. It was a desire that had died with the eventual acceptance of this world, but he found a sudden and strange longing to live in a world where intimate moments weren't clouded with fear and danger.

_His own._

Rick mused the other man’s words over in his head again as they continued to put distance between them and the decaying mass at their backs, feeling something other than emptiness gnawing inside him. Something sweet, strong enough to outshine the horror and resignation of their world, almost like affection but stronger. Affection was something he held for Carl, Judy, Hershel, his family. With Daryl, it had been something almost incapacitating for a long time, addictive and luscious, but never satisfied. It was irritatingly evasive and overwhelmingly captivating, but Rick didn’t dare name it with anything. He was almost afraid of how much he wanted Daryl to call him his own again, embarrassed by the thrill of Daryl saving his life, obsessed with the intoxication of saving his in return.

Coming up short once more, Rick decided to let it go and opted to ride out this high instead. “Now, what were you saying about my spatial awareness?” he teased, grin plastered to his face in his swelling euphoria.

Daryl scoffed, rolling his eyes as they ran through the forest. “Don’t go bragging yet, ‘r I might just let ya bleed out next time.”

“Does this mean we’re even now?”

There was a shit-eating grin mirrored on the hunter’s face and for the first time in his life, Rick could have sworn he heard Daryl -- stoic, aloof, obelisk of a man Daryl -- laughing over the tingling and pounding in his own head, his chest.

“Not even close.”

~~~~~

“Love is patient, love is kind,” her dad’s voice rang stronger than normal, echoing in the acoustics of her prison cell and reverberating in her still-tender soul. She very much loved this passage and needed to hear it from time to time again. Now was one of those such times.

“It does not envy, it does not boast,” Hershel continued, glancing up at his daughter with his smiling eyes. “It is not proud, it is not rude.”

Maggie smiled back at him. This sneaky old man must have known she and Glenn had gotten into a fight that morning and hobbled up the stairs with his bible in tow. Whenever she was upset as a little girl -- the times Maggie had been scorned by boys at school, the nights Hershel would come home liquored out of his mind, the divorce of her parents -- her dad would find his way to her with Corinthians’ words pouring from his lips.

The two of them were on Maggie’s bunk together, Hershel sitting with his amputated leg propped up on the mattress and Maggie with her knees curled in to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees, listening as her dad read from the worn bible in his lap.

“It is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered.” At this, Hershel paused and glanced up from the passage to give Maggie a meaningful look with a knowing, playful glint in his eye.

“What, is that supposed to mean something?” Maggie huffed and shoved his shoulder lightly in mock offense.

Hershel just laughed and shook his head. “It keeps no record of wrongs.” Another pointed look, another feigned huff. Inside, Maggie delighted in this, as most of their bible studies lately were centered around God’s great will and the eternal damnation promised to those who stray from Him. It was refreshing to hear a sermon on love, Maggie’s favorite sermon even, in these loveless and forsaken times.

“It always protects,” spoke Hershel, voice becoming more and more weighted as he read on. This part in particular always had such a heavy impact on Maggie, shaping her definition of the construct that is love and molding her ideals for the woman she wanted to be.

She spoke with him, voice just as impassioned, “It always trusts, always hopes, always preserves.”

Goosebumps ran their way up her olive skin to her core, wringing her heart of any bitterness or anger she felt from her morning with Glenn. She felt relieved, exorcised, proof to her that the words of this soothsayer hailing from Corinth were in fact prose danced from the lips of angels themselves. Closing her eyes, Maggie basked in her cleansed heart.

“Love never fails,” they ended, voice in harmony together. “Corinthian thirteen, four.”

A moment of silence followed until Maggie eventually opened her eyes, grinning gratefully at her dad who in turn smiled right back at her. His plush beard and mustache rose jovially with his smile as he said, “Now that’s unconditional love.”

Maggie couldn't agree more, heart swelling from the hallowed scripture and warmth she felt despite the chill of the prison. “Thanks for that, daddy.”

“Don’t thank me,” Hershel chuckled lightheartedly, patting his daughter on the knee with one hand and closing the holy book with the other. “I’m just the messenger for the Lord, my dear. And something tells me He wouldn't want you and Glenn fighting with each other when what we need is a little bit of happiness to go ‘round.”

Shrugging her thin shoulder, Maggie looked away and pulled her legs tighter to her, humbled by the bible verse and guilty from their fight. “I know,” she agreed reluctantly, still unable to relinquish some of the fight in her now that it had been brought to light again. She thought back to their heated conversation that morning, the appalled look Glenn had on his boyish face had only fueled her trademark Southern temper further. For Christ’s sake, how her sweet, loving boyfriend could be so thick-headed sometimes was beyond Maggie.

Hershel squeezed her knee, drawing her attention back to him. “You don’t have to tell me about it, but you do have to find it in yourself to forgive him. ‘For their sins and lawless acts I will remember no more’.”

“‘For their sins and lawless acts I will remember no more’,” repeated Maggie, smiling half-heartedly at her father. “Let forgiveness flow through you like the holy ghost and purge the seed of hatred from your soul. Well, it’s a-flowin’, daddy. It’s just, how can a person even say that somebody’s ‘too manly’ for love?”

Silver eyebrows scrunching together quizzically, Hershel frowned. “What?”

“Exactly!” his daughter exclaimed, working herself up over the fight from hours ago. She uncoiled herself, letting her long legs dangle off the edge of the bunk and gesturing disbelief with her hands. “I mean, what kind of idiot says that sort of thing?” Huffing for real this time, Maggie leaned back against the wall of the cell, jumping a little when the freezing stone bit her heated skin, and crossed her arms sullenly. “My idiot, that’s who.”

There was a pause while Maggie simmered over ghostly provocations, bottom lip stuck out as was standard when she was upset, before Hershel ventured, “Who was Glenn talking about, Maggie?”

“Rick,” Maggie scoffed before continuing. “Can you believe that? Poor guy deserves the world after all he’s been through.”

Hershel frowned again, taken aback, and Maggie sucked in her bottom lip at her carelessness. She had initially intended to keep her dad in the dark about their fight, knowing his involvement would only complicate issues, but in her rising restlessness she had a lapse in whom she was venting to.

“But, ya know, don’t we all?” said Maggie with a blasé laugh, trying to backpedal from her blunder before he became all the wiser. When there was no response, just a grave look in his solemn old eyes, she sucked her lips in, trying her best to look innocuous and uninvolved.

Face unreadable, Hershel clearly wasn't falling for it and looked at Maggie seriously. Raising a bushy eyebrow, Hershel spoke. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

“No, daddy, it’s nothing,” Maggie quickly shook her head, sending her short brown hair swishing back and forth, and smiled as genuinely as she could at her worried father. “Just a game Beth and I like to play sometimes. Glenn was just being an ass, pardon my mouth, but there ain't anything going on for you to worry about.”

And it wasn't a lie, not really. She and Beth liked to pair people up on occasion and fight over who would make the best couple, but it was always harmless and definitely not something her dad and his archaic views needed to get entangled in. Heck, their little game wasn't exactly received well by her open-minded boyfriend -- whom, by the way, didn't seem to be very forward thinking after all, Maggie reminded herself. The fact that it happened to be Daryl she and Beth paired Rick with was a nuance Maggie didn't think was all that big of a deal.

Though she doubted her father would feel the same way as her. No, it was best to keep him out of this, especially considering he’d probably just go have one of his talking-to’s to the men. Maggie tried to envision it and found that she couldn't imagine anything more mortifying for everybody involved.

_“Rick? Daryl? I think we need to sit down and talk. See, my girls have been watching you two, and from what they've told me, I think it’s time for a long overdue bible study.”_

Maggie cringed inwardly at the thought -- there was no way she was getting Hershel involved in this, for everyone's sanity. She loved her daddy with all her heart, but his conservative beliefs were a little backwards sometimes as far as Maggie was concerned. Georgia wasn't exactly known for its acceptance or its liberal foundations, but Maggie could never quite find it in her heart to think that somebody should be discriminated against just for who they love.

Corinthian always preached that unconditional love was a beautiful thing.

Hershel smiled at her and squeezed her knee again, looking quite unconvinced but didn't pursue the issue. “Well, if you say so. I know how you and your sister like to gossip.” With that, Hershel gave his daughter a light tap on her joint then reached back behind him for his crutches.

Smiling back, Maggie leaned over and pecked Hershel on the cheek. “Thanks for stopping by, daddy. I know it’s quite a trip.”

With Maggie’s help and slow, careful movements, the two managed to situate Hershel upright and weighing on his crutches. He touched her cheek and pocketed his leather bible, saying, “Oh, I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d stop by.” Maggie chuckled and rolled her eyes -- even at the end of the world, her dad was still cracking lame jokes just to see her smile. Despite being in hell itself where the dead walked the surface and the living crawled the trenches, where death and day were as one distillation, Hershel was still full of his old dad-jokes. With the quintessence of life snarling and biting at one’s own bread and wine of self, breathing down their necks, normalcy and humor was a Godsend that Maggie rejoiced in.

“And Maggie,” Hershel started, wincing as his old bones popped from standing up. “Try and go easy on him, alright?”

Maggie pursed her lips, shrugging impishly. “We’ll see.”

The two laughed together, forgetting the world for a moment before it came crashing through the cell door in the form of a tousled Glenn, babbling loudly enough to echo through the catwalk.

“Maggie! Maggie, they’re back! They’re -- Oh,” flushed, Glenn barreled into his and Maggie’s small cell, stopping short and straightening abruptly when he noticed his girlfriend’s company. He cleared his throat and nodded at both of them, rounded face colored all shades of gracelessly formal and thoroughly embarrassed. 

“Glenn,” Hershel acknowledged, nodding back at him.

“Um, hello, sir,” he cleared his throat and looked for the life of him to be completely out of place. To Maggie, he offered a small, apologetic quirk of his lips and said far more casually, “Hey.”

“Hey, hon’,” Maggie returned, eyebrows jerking upwards in her expectancy. “What were you hollerin’ about just now?”

“Rick and Daryl!” spoke Glenn breathlessly, molting from his previous facade of formality and leaping into his usual shell of excitement and over abundance of energy. Maggie’s face lit up at his loud proclamation, face splitting into a grin at the return of her comrades, and Hershel appeared similarly pleased. “They’re finally back!”

“Our boys are home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry if I butchered any of the characters or bible verses. There's plenty more of this story coming, though we're getting a long overdue break from tension and suspense in the upcoming bits. :)
> 
> I do not own bible verses.


	11. Homestead

.:Homestead:.

There was a happy commotion as Rick stepped through the chainlink fence surrounding the prison, Daryl at his back between him and the stray walkers, his family at his front between him and his home. The congruity of it all was not dismissed by Rick as he grinned wholeheartedly at his loved ones, turning to flash his elation at the man covering his rear and rushing forward through the gate with Daryl at his heels. There was something indescribable about this feeling of amenity and Rick knew there was some analogy in this moment, but was too lost in it to find it.

“Dad!”

Rick’s heartstrings tore at Carl rushing down from the prison, holding onto the brim of his hat to keep it in place. Beth and Maggie were at the top of the hill with Hershel, helping him hobble down the uneven terrain, while Glenn restlessly kept pace with them. Carol and Axel were at the fence’s gate, holding it open for them and shutting it tight once the two men had entered, and Oscar was trailing behind cradling Judith.

Bounding forward, Rick met his son halfway and pulled him into his arms to squeeze him tight. “Carl…”

“Hey, Dad,” Carl said, muffled in Rick’s chest. He squeezed his thin arms around Rick, pulling back when his sheriff's hat started falling off and smiled up at his dad. Rick grinned back down at him and jostled his hat, musing Carl’s long hair and causing him to jerk back to fix it.

“It’s about time you two showed up,” started Carol from behind them. She was smiling at them both, relief apparent on her face, but there was a chiding tone to her words. 

Axel stood next to Carol, seemingly where he was beginning to be the most at home, and piped up, “We all thought you two was gonna be back yesterday.”

“Yeah, where were you guys?” Carl questioned, looking up to Rick.

“Hunting,” gave Rick, an emphasis in his inflection indicating quite pointedly that he wasn’t going to say anything further about it. Carl was visibly put off, as was Carol, and the two then looked expectantly to Daryl for their answers. Daryl looked hilariously unsettled under the inquisitive spotlight, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking away from the demanding gazes.

“Two days to hunt?” Carol rose a thin eyebrow at him, almost accusatory in her face and body language.

“We got caught up in somethin’,” came Daryl’s quiet but gravely response. Carol’s eyebrow only rose higher at Daryl’s piteous and inadequate offering, which he shied away from by looking to Rick helplessly. Rick was torn between laughing good-naturedly and helping the guy out somehow, but settled for watching their interaction go on. 

“‘Sides, it was only a day ‘n a half, woman,” he added, the unspoken ‘get off my back’ practically resounding in his speech. 

Carol huffed, amused as she swatted Daryl’s shoulder like they were lifelong friends in the midst of their usual banter. “Well excuse me,” she sassed, rolling her eyes at them both before giving Rick a meaningful look. He sighed inwardly, knowing what that look entailed -- it seemed as if he still couldn’t be alone with his friend without getting the third degree from someone, despite Lori no longer hovering over them both.

Even Carl seemed desperate to get the scoop on their hunting trip and Rick couldn’t say that he blamed him much. As competent as the group had become in the past year at surviving and dispatching walkers, going out on runs and hunts were still regarded as dangerous. To leave the others in the dark while Rick and Daryl spent the night out on their hunt was something Rick knew was going to worry the others half to death, and as necessary as it was, it didn’t help the stabbing guilt in Rick’s gut. Worrying his people wasn’t something Rick ever wanted to do, but worrying his son downright devastated him. Carl staying up all night, wondering if his dad was coming home or not, just killed Rick.

Turning to his son, he offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting, son.”

“S’alright,” he shrugged and tipped his hat at Daryl and his dad, leaning back into a facade of composure and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I took care of the place while you two were gone.” Daryl snorted and whacked Carl on his back, shoving him gently, and received a playful punch in return from the teen. Rick grinned to himself as he watched the two start to wrestle, ending with Daryl grappling Carl into a chokehold and Carl trying to squirm his way out.

“Can’t weasel yer way outta this, kid,” Daryl laughed lightly, eyes twinkling and lips smiling. Rick’s found himself chuckling with him as he watched these two that shared his heart goof around and laugh together. 

The usual pang of guilt tainted his joy as it sunk in just how much Lori would have their heads for this -- Daryl for being so surly, Carl for rough housing, and Rick for just watching, laughing. His humor faded and he thumbed his wedding ring for the second time in recent hours, swallowing a strange lump in his throat as Daryl instructed his son how to fight his way out of a chokehold.

In the middle of Daryl showing Carl how to drop his weight, however puny it was, Carol spoke up and caused the the two men to freeze.

“Daryl, where’s your poncho?”

Carl slipped from Daryl’s grasp in the interruption, smiling and laughing in his victory, but stopped at the hunter’s usual scowl. Daryl turned his frown on Carol and for a moment, Rick worried about what rude offhand comment was destined to be flung from the other man’s mouth towards her. Did nobody else pick up on when Daryl didn’t want to talk about something? It seemed so obvious to Rick, all of Daryl’s not-so-subtleties, but it seemed he was the only one savvy to them.

Before Daryl could spit whatever he had planned to, there was a shouting towards them.

“Hey!” Glenn called, catching the attention of everyone around. “Finally! You guys get anything good?” Maggie glared at him and flicked his ear playfully, eliciting a sharp ‘ah!’ from Glenn who tried to duck out of the way from any further attacks. 

“Welcome back, guys!” Beth chirped as the four of them came close. 

Rick and Daryl were grateful for the disruption and nodded at their welcoming faces, all smiling and happy to see the two alive and well. “Hey,” he greeted. Hershel nodded back at him and shooed away his daughters supporting hands, balancing himself on the abundance of dead grass beneath his crutches.

“Jeez, we thought you two had skipped town or something,” teased Glenn, a wide smirk dancing on his lips and in his devious eyes. He raised his eyebrows tauntingly as he said, “Something happen out there? Ow!” 

Maggie flicked him again, which he swatted at this time. “Could you be any less oblivious? They just got home, let ‘em relax, would you?”

Glenn muttered to himself and rubbed his earlobe tenderly, pouting a little as Rick and the Greene family chatted. Out of the corner of his eye, Rick watched Daryl approach the sullen man with two racoons, held by their long and bushy tails, which brightened Glenn’s face significantly. After the incident, Daryl had insisted that they wouldn’t return home empty handed, despite their streak of dangerously bad luck on the hunt, and had managed to bag two large racoons.

A smirk had been plastered on Daryl’s face when he dislodged the arrows from the two rodents, but there had been barely-hidden remorse gracing his features since the loss of their turkey. Rick knew that his drive to come home with something, anything, was derived from his sense of loss at having to sacrifice their first kill together, wanting to compensate for their lack of game.

“Sup, man,” said Oscar as he approached the gathering, offering Rick’s baby girl when he came close enough. Rick’s heart skipped a beat at his daughter’s sleeping face, slack and innocent and beautiful, and happily took her from him. He thanked Oscar genuinely and tucked Judith into his body heat, hoping to shield her sensitive skin from the bite of the winter air. Beth and Maggie were smiling as they watched on and Rick felt Daryl’s presence come close, far closer than normal, to look at Judith over Rick’s shoulder.

“Hey, Lil’ Asskicker,” Daryl cooed quietly, voice startingly close to Rick’s ear. He hoped the jump in his heart rate didn’t disturb his baby girl as Daryl fawned over her, still just barely within Rick’s personal space.

There was merry conversation as the group congregated up the hill and back to the prison, grass crunching beneath their feet barrenly, Daryl never straying far from the Grimes.

“Rick,” Hershel spoke, drawing his attention away from his and the Greene girls’ conversation. Worry etched his wrinkled face and dripped from his heavy words and he stopped his laborious trek up the hill, staying silent enough not to draw too much focus to them. “What happened to your arm?”

Rick paused, looking from Hershel to Daryl, not wanting to make that information known just yet. Instead, he shrugged and casually said, “Oh, it’s nothing bad.”

Daryl gave Rick a narrow look and Rick knew immediately what he wanted. “Wouldn’t hurt to get it looked at,” Daryl insisted, dragging his gaze from Rick’s blue eyes to Hershel’s worried ones. Wordlessly, Rick pleaded for the other man to leave it at that and was pleasantly surprised when he did. Hershel nodded knowingly, telling him he’d come check on him later, and was quiet the rest of the trip to the prison. Rick tried to smile at Daryl, tried to show him how thankful he was that he didn’t pursue the issue, but the hunter wouldn’t meet his eyes.

~~~~~

“You’re lucky Daryl was there,” Hershel chided as he dabbed flaming alcohol into Rick’s open skin. He winced at both the searing pain and the deflating reprimand, knowing Hershel was justified in his chastising but was already sore all over from kicking himself.

“Don’t I know it,” Rick sighed, more to himself than anything. The self-depreciation bled to his features and dripped from his voice, this sense of fault was a major factor why Rick didn’t care to disclose their minute by minute trip of just the two of them, along with numerous other embarrassing reasons. His family was nothing if not inquisitive, clinging to any sort of normalcy in their gossip and drama. Anything that wasn’t decaying or trying to kill them was refreshing anymore, and something most of them desperately vied for. 

Hershel pulled back at Rick’s tone, eyes scoping his face as his fingers paused. “I don’t care to scold you, but I mean it, Rick. You could’ve lost a lot of blood from this,” at that, he dipped the cotton cloth into the laceration at Rick’s shoulder, spreading pain throughout his arm. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Rick didn’t respond immediately, biting his tongue as Hershel cleaned his wounds and made to dress them. Hesitantly, he looked to the old man and spoke, “We ran into other survivors out there.”

There was a falter in Hershel’s hands, but no other reaction came from the older man and he remained quiet, waiting for Rick to continue. “Weren’t exactly the friendly type, neither. That’s what gave me this.” He shrugged his left shoulder in indication, accidentally jostling Hershel’s cleaning, and carefully gauged his reaction. There wasn’t much of one in his gray face, just a hard look and a calculation in his eyes.

“Did you try talking to them?” Hershel’s words were slow and measured as he spoke.

Rick heaved a sigh. “They didn’t exactly give us the chance. A herd of walkers kept us in a broken down car all night, and come morning, these two guys had us trapped in.” He wasn’t looking at Hershel as he recounted their night out, eyes distant and reaching to remember what he could about their encounter with the strangers. 

“We managed to get away thanks to that herd, but one of ‘em tailed us with a gun ‘n nicked me,” he continued.

Hershel sat back and asked, “What happened to them?”

“Dead.” 

A solemn voice came from behind them, muted and grave, and drew their attention towards the doorway where Daryl stood with a sleeping Judith nestled in his strong arms. His footsteps had been practically nonexistent in the echoing stone cavern of Rick’s cell so Rick had no idea how long the other man had been standing there.

“They both are,” Daryl finished, voice unforgiving and defensive. “Didn’t give me any choice.”

Silence filled the space between them, Hershel threading dental floss through a curved needle and Daryl looking to Judith as he bounced her gently. Rick felt a wave of relief flooding his senses at finally bringing this problem to light with someone, especially considering that someone in particular wasn’t any type to lose his head over something. If anything, Hershel was a good guide of conscious and morality to counsel him through this stressful conundrum and the outlet was purely cathartic for Rick.

“Were there any more of them?” Hershel asked as he held the needle over a candle flame to warm it, turning it over and over.

“None that we saw there.” Rick ran his hands over his face haggardly, weaving his long fingers through his increasingly bushy beard. “But from the sounds of things, they got themselves a group somewhere, led by some guy who calls himself ‘the Governor’.”

Daryl cleared his throat. “N’ they had guns on ‘em. Some heavy artillery.”

Exhaling, Hershel raised his eyebrows at the news and dipped the metal into his petri dish of alcohol before raising it to Rick’s broken skin. Rick tensed and bit his lip at the all-consuming sting of the hot needle pricking through his inflamed skin, trying to focus on the conversation at hand to dull the pain. Daryl was watching Rick now, a shade of worry coloring his face at Rick’s apparent discomfort, but made no move to come any closer.

“This worries me, boys,” Hershel breathed, hands steady and practiced as they looped the strange, tingling, minty thread through Rick’s opening in his shoulder. He vaguely regretted turning down the pain killers Hershel had offered him before this minor surgery, but knew they’d just be a luxury someone else needed far more than him.

Rick sucked in a breath and tried to keep the pain from showing on his face, doing his damndest to sit still. Hershel seemed to notice and gestured to Daryl.

“Son, I’m gonna need you to hold him down, if you can.”

Daryl froze, eyes wide and appalled as if Hershel had just asked him to hold down a walker. No, Rick corrected mentally, he was positive he had seen the other man restrain a walker with far more enthusiasm and less misgivings than was on his face right now. Hell, he acted as if wrestling with things trying to kill him was a hobby of his compared to being asked to hold Rick.

Bouncing the sleeping baby sheepishly, Daryl said, “Looks like yer doin’ just fine without me, old man.”

Hershel’s thick eyebrows rose at Daryl’s biting response, pausing his stitching to rebuke, “Looks like Rick’s not gonna heal properly in that case. Being the one performing surgical care, I can tell you this would be a lot easier if someone held Rick’s arm still.”

Awkwardly, admonished, Daryl turned to the small crib in Rick’s cell and gently laid Judith down as if she were made of precious glass, taking his sweet time to tuck her into her blankets and brush her forehead lovingly, stalling. His attitude was far less tender as he straightened and came to Rick’s side, holding his left arm clumsily without looking at him. His grasp was skittish and vague as if he were trying to keep Rick’s bare skin on his own minimal, arms extended their full length from Daryl’s seat on the man’s bed.

Rick might have been both parts offended and amused by the situation if not for the thin piece of metal currently jutting from his throbbing skin in an arc and the creeping icy hot sensation from the peppermint floss.

“Like this?” Daryl asked apprehensively. 

Smiling lightly and with one hand keeping the needle in place, Hershel used his other hand to direct Daryl’s tentative ones, guiding them to a more secure position on Rick’s forearm and shoulder blade. The change in position had drawn Daryl closer, leaning in slightly, and the two men wouldn’t look at each other. Hershel seemed to notice and chuckled at these grown men acting like schoolboys, eliciting a growl in return from the tense hunter.

“That’s better. Thank you, Daryl. This’ll go much faster now,” Hershel thanked and continued his work. Daryl muttered a “thank God” under his breath and Rick, being close enough to hear the younger man’s words, smirked. Daryl was normally so aloof, his demeanor that of a feral lone wolf, and it cracked Rick up to see him so wound tight.

He tried to ignore the pull in his gut and thudding in his chest that reminded him just how equally affected Rick was by their proximity.

“Now, Rick,” Hershel started, shifting his weight to angle the needle in Rick’s tapered flesh. His voice became serious once more. “This news is deeply unsettling, and worries me a great deal between this herd and these men you ran into.”

Rick tried to listen intently, but his battered shoulder was pulling at his attention, muscles twitching each time the needle plunged into his skin. Daryl’s hands tightened their grip on his body and Rick couldn’t keep himself from recalling the feel of these same hands on his skin, featherlight and maddeningly teasing trails of strange burning need into his arms just yesterday. Swallowing his embarrassing memory, Rick tried to sit still under Daryl’s firm grip.

“It’s does my heart no comfort knowing these men are now dead -- ”

Daryl’s head jerked up, eyes blazing and interrupting. “I ain’t sorry they’re dead. They deserved what they got.”

Hershel looked from him to Rick and tried to ease Daryl’s snarl. “I’m sure they did. I’m just trying to consider the ramifications if their comrades find them dead on the side of the road somewhere. Did you at least hide any indication that you two were involved?”

Shrugging, Daryl hung his head and told Hershel about the arrow still lodged in the one man’s skull and how they had to make a quick escape due to the walker horde. Hershel grew grave as he tied the end of the dental thread into a miniscule knot, Rick’s skin now laced together properly, and began dressing Rick’s stitches with gauze. The candles flickered in the room, adding an eerie atmosphere to already tense retelling of Rick and Daryl’s story.

“What do you propose we do, Rick?” Hershel asked, looking to their leader.

Rick’s eyes rose from examining his bandage to looking between his two companions, considering exactly what he wanted to do. “We’re gonna barricade what we can -- the fences, the towers, everything, and keep everyone inside the walls except for runs and hunts. I don’t want anyone getting blindsided out in the yard or in the forest like me n’ Daryl were.”

“Are we going to tell the others?” Hershel questioned.

“I think it’d be a bad idea not to.”

Hershel raised his hands, almost pleading with Rick. “I agree that they need to know, Rick, but please. Consider doing it after Thanksgiving.”

Taken aback, Rick’s brow furrowed at the gray man. “What if we don’t get that long?”

“Like you said, we’ll barricade what we can,” Hershel insisted, continuing to argue against telling their family of the two men and their Governor. Rick couldn’t fathom keeping everyone unaware of a potential threat, but felt like he knew why Hershel was so determined about it. “Please, Rick. Thanksgiving’s just a few days away and I’d hate to see all this cheer go to waste. We haven’t had something to look forward to in who knows how long.”

That was it, Rick knew. This desperation for normalcy had everyone in better spirits since their time on the Greene farm and Rick found himself torn in crushing them with reality or not. Practicality and sentimentality were at war now, and Rick tried to weigh the pros and cons of each, leaning back to consider where Hershel was coming from.

On the one hand, it was dangerous to let their guard down and lose their edge, a fact made very clear in his outing with Daryl, proof that the unknown would take advantage in their happy bliss. On the other hand, Rick couldn’t bring himself to regret his and Daryl’s time together and the closeness it brought, peril be damned. It wasn’t a feeling Rick was acquainted with any more and was dying to embrace it, this overwhelming sensation dammed by Rick’s preservation of the unknown. To take this happiness away from his family felt cruel.

“What do you think?” Rick asked, turning to his friend next to him on his bed.

Daryl had long since put plenty of room between them but remained seated on the cot. He pulled his knee up and laced his fingers around it, looking thoughtful, and eventually answered, “Ain’t much reason to keep fighting if ya ain’t got nothin’ to fight for.” 

Rick was momentarily shocked at his answer and how out of character it seemed for him. When they had first met, Daryl had come off as little more than a feral dog who only knew survival for survival’s sake. Whatever had changed him, Rick was incredibly grateful for it. He vaguely wondered if whatever it was that had moved Daryl was what was currently moving Rick, as curious as it was, and his heart leaped at the idea.

“‘Sides, we don’t have the ammo to equip everyone with firepower anymore,” Daryl noted, leaning back next to Rick with a grunt.

Sighing, Rick turned his head to him and said, “So, what, we keep them in the dark?”

“I ain’t sayin’ that.” Shrugging, Daryl bit at his thumb cuticle in his stress and Rick resisted the sudden urge to stop him, baffled by where that compulsion came from. “It’s up to you, man. I’ll be there with ya to tell ‘em if that’s what yer gonna do, though.”

There was a warmth flowing from Rick’s chest to his small smile and he couldn’t keep looking at Daryl. He noticed Hershel’s onlooking, wrinkled face watching their interaction, but was feeling too dizzy to care much. It wasn’t often that Rick heard someone support him so unconditionally, and he couldn’t fight the sensation blossoming in his heart at the faith in him. It wasn’t that Rick begrudged Lori, Shane, Glenn, Hershel, everybody for constantly second guessing him and had even come to expect it thrown from every direction relentlessly, but it was always astounding how loyal Daryl was to him.

It was that same warmth that made up Rick’s mind.

“Alright,” he emit, exhaling through his nose and already starting to worry over his decision. “We won’t tell them yet. We’ll wait until after Thanksgiving, after we’ve got more ammo and gun power. No sense in causing a fuss when we don’t even have enough weapons to go around.”

Relief flooded Hershel’s face and he beamed at the two on the bed, collecting his medical supplies to leave now that he heard Rick’s judgement. “Thank you, Rick. I’ll come around sometime tomorrow to check your stitches. Try and stay off that arm, alright? Don’t want you ripping them, it doesn’t seem like either of you want to be doing this again.”

Rick and Daryl looked at each other and quickly turned away at Hershel’s words, causing the old man to chuckle deeply as he gathered himself onto his crutches and left the cell. The two men sat in silence, alone with the baby at the side of the bed, and Rick cleared his throat awkwardly.

“You really think this is a good idea?”

Daryl was quiet for a moment, still keeping his eyes from Rick and still chewing on his thumb. “Think we’ll find out.”

Scoffing, Rick tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Can’t say that helps much.”

“What, you want a hug instead?” Rick didn’t have to see the other man to know he was smirking and grinned back, knocking his elbow into Daryl’s side playfully. He could always count on Daryl to joke around and spit sarcasm at the worst of moments, when Rick needed a straight answer, though he couldn’t bring himself to consider it a fault.

“Pfft, do you even know what those are?”

Daryl elbowed Rick back, gentle and considerate of Rick’s injured arm, saying, “What’s it to you, Grimes?”

Rick opened his eyes and turned his head to face Daryl, basking in that strange happiness that filled him in these moments. He didn’t respond, instead falling back into silence, albeit far more comfortable than moments ago, and just gazed at his companion. Daryl was watching him as well through his sharp eyes and dangling bangs, looking guarded yet expectant. There was a churning in Rick’s stomach that he couldn’t quite ignore as he gradually leaned in, Daryl tensing and remaining as still as a statue. 

The two nearly jumped out of their skins at the sound of Judith crying herself awake, needing some kind of attention. 

Releasing a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding, Rick hurriedly leaned forward and plucked his noisy daughter from her crib, cradling her in his good arm tenderly. There was some movement to his left as Daryl scooted to the edge of the bunk, hunched over and awkward and avoiding Rick’s eyes all over again.

“You want me to take her?” he offered, twiddling his thumbs.

Rick felt something sinking in him and tried to ignore the odd disappointment in his stomach. “Nah, man, I got her. Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

Daryl shook his head jerkily and got up, stretching his arms up until his back popped. “Don’t need it. If you got Asskicker, I’m gonna head out and take tonight’s watch.” Rick wanted to protest, to argue for Daryl’s health, but he knew exactly where he’d get for all his efforts and shut his mouth. Instead, he opted to rock Judith to calm her and watched Daryl start towards the door, touching Rick’s bedside table as he walked away.

Before Daryl stepped through his cell door, Rick called out tentatively, “Goodnight, Daryl.” The man stopped in the doorway at Rick’s soft-spoken words, but didn’t turn to face him before he departed.

“G’night.”

Somewhat sullen, Rick cradled his baby back to sleep, her teary hiccups slowing until they ceased entirely. With his daughter finally back dozing in his arm, Rick got up, feeling overwhelmingly restless, and walked a small circle around his cell until something small caught his eye. It was where Daryl had grazed his nightstand. Curious, Rick drew closer until, with a fluttering heart, he realized why Daryl had reached out to touch the table.

Two tiny little ibuprofen pills, indistinct and unassuming, lay on the table’s surface like much a welcomed and much needed hug.


	12. Preparations

.:Preparations:.

If Rick had made himself scarce over the next few days, he would tell himself that it was for no other reason than the holidays. If he had bothered to give himself the time to think, he would insist that this busywork was nothing short of necessary thanks to the impending threat of another camp. Hell, if he had stopped for even a second, he would say that his racing mind and body had nothing to do with a certain companion of his.

But Rick was nothing if not an honest man, and so he kept himself busy.

Thanks to his idle heart and jittery hands, menial chores around the prison were taken care of in mere hours -- the hills were hoed and tilled, the floors were swept and cleaned, and Judith’s cries were hushed and soothed. Rick found peace of mind in the labor of fortifying their chain link fences and walkways with planks of hardwood and plywood, turning away help when it was offered and shrugging off inquisitive glances as they were thrown. The last thing Rick wanted right now was to talk. It had never been his forte anyway, and in the state of mind that he was currently in, Rick couldn’t hold himself above saying the wrong thing. If his history throughout his marriage held any pattern to it, Rick knew that saying the wrong thing in a time of trepidity was almost a sure fire habit of his, and so he kept his mouth shut and his hands busy and shooed away any comforting claims.

It was pleasantly laborious the days before Thanksgiving as Rick walled off certain areas outside of the prison, using sheet metal, spare fencing, anything to try any barricade their home. Keeping his loved ones in the dark about the opposing gang of survivors wore weary in his heart, but taking precautionary measures helped to put Rick at ease. He hated the idea of being caught unaware again and took pleasure in coming up with ways to fortify themselves, painstakingly inclined to be prepared for whatever crept in their looming future. 

Even before the turn of humanity a year and a half ago, Rick was meticulous in his readiness. He always believed that success was only found when preparation met opportunity, but now more so than ever, laxity was a danger to one’s health anymore.

Negligence was a luxury of the past, not meant for this new world.

Daryl was also hard at work, setting up various traps for both meat and potential threats. He laced the air with strands of metal, coils of fishing cable and piano wire low enough to trip a walker and high enough to kill a human, or at the very least blind or cripple one. The terrain beyond the fence was freckled with pitfalls, which the hunter then filled with bits of barbed wire, and Daryl had to tread carefully to weave through his man-made traps. Nylon corded snares were left dangling unobtrusively through the trees, too high for any animal, and Rick had to wonder the lengths they would all go to survive.

The answer was pretty clear as the nooses swayed in the cold breeze, foreboding and unassuming. 

Rick watched the other man work, stomach churning, as he set his hammer down and took a break from his lattice of wood and metal patchwork around the prison. The material was thick enough to prevent most bullets from penetrating their fortress, but Rick couldn’t help but worry over the gang’s apparent excess of firepower as he remembered the AK-47 the dead man wielded. He was painfully aware of their own lack of weaponry, taking a quick mental stock of their diminishing supplies, and resolved to plan a quick outing sometime before Thanksgiving, as immediate as that was. The days after his and Daryl’s run in with the offending men were the tensest, their adrenaline like live wires in their blood at any sudden sound or movement beyond the safety net of their chain fence, and Rick could only hope that between his and Daryl’s handiwork, perhaps the prison looked even more abandoned and decayed if not ominous and threatening.

Hope was a bittersweet thing, Rick thought stormily as he watched Daryl duck under invisible wires, sweat glistening on his neck despite the chilly weather. The younger man started creating an inconspicuous walkway of rocks and dirt were there was no risk of running face first into thin, cutting steel wires, seemingly unaware of Rick’s scrutiny.

His gunmetal eyes scoured Daryl’s figure. Hardly any of his tanned skin was exposed today, instead covered against the brisk air, and Rick forced himself to be grateful for that. He didn’t enjoy the guilt that came from watching Daryl’s firm biceps flex with work, the cord of muscle in his neck shudder when he swallowed or spoke, the thin strip of foreign pale skin taut and coiled just over the hem of his jeans when he stretched. It made Rick feel nauseated with confusion and fault in checking out his best friend, who likely would have cuffed him if he found out. 

_Oh hell._

Rick froze when Daryl raised his head, thin eyes finding his immediately, and Rick felt a shameful heat rising from his neck to his ears which the glint of cobalt blue followed. He looked away just a heartbeat later, but not after meeting Rick’s unabashed gaze once more. Rick’s growing body heat left with Daryl’s attention and he felt cold, far colder than he had been a minute ago, and an ice settled in his bones as Rick turned away as well and inadvertently landed on Lori’s empty grave.

Frowning, he picked up his hammer to resume his work, the loud clangs of the materials almost enough to drown the tumultuous shame prickling his back where Lori’s tomb watched on. 

~~~~~

The days had been busy just before Thanksgiving, a parallel of the old world that Rick might have found funny if he wasn’t so stressed, and it made the time fly in ways the group was no longer used to. Carol, Hershel, everyone was beside themselves with delight when Rick told them about the greenhouse filled with ripening produce just a few miles away. For the rest of them, it only heightened their holiday cheer as they planned out a run to gather what they could, Hershel insisting that they might be able to transfer some of the greenery to the prison to start their own garden, but to Rick it was no more than added weight and another reason to worry. 

To top it off, Maggie announced that she and Glenn would be making a run into town, and Rick swore he could nearly feel his back breaking from the weight of his worries.

“Whatever it is you’re wanting, can’t it wait until after Thanksgiving?” Rick tried to reason, knowing it didn’t amount to much when Maggie involved herself. That woman was sweet enough when she wanted to be, but was just as headstrong as her daddy and had a bit of her Irish temperament to boot. “It’s literally just a couple of days from now.”

“A couple of days from now will be too late!” she insisted, eyes alight with something devious. 

Rick closed his eyes and exhaled, feeling his patience running uncharacteristically thin. “Can you at least tell me what you need? Maybe I can stop by on our run to the greenhouse.”

“Nuh-uh,” she shook her head, short hair tossing around her face in defiance. There was a playful note to her tone, one that didn’t come around as often as it used to, but Rick couldn’t be bothered to appreciate it at the moment. What he appreciated was her staying safe. “It’s a surprise, one I think you might enjoy, too,” she grinned, crossing her arms over her chest firmly.

Clenching his jaw, Rick looked to Glenn who was watching on in amusement, clearly enjoying someone else having to put up with his girlfriend’s stubborn streak. His grin fell from his boyish face when Rick turned to him, and he immediately plastered on a look of ignorance. 

“Don’t look at me,” said Glenn innocently, shaking his head. “I have no idea what she wants.”

Maggie chimed playfully, “Ain’t that the truth.”

At that, there was a wave of good humor flowing through their group as Glenn and Maggie bantered harmlessly back and forth, the entirety of their people situated in the dining area. They had gathered, with their leader present for the first time in days, to discuss the run to the greenhouse which Rick had decided would consist of him, Hershel, and Oscar. Rick had wanted most of their able-bodied people to stay back with the rest of them, because preparing for the worst was a cop-instilled habit of his. Only now, Maggie was blindsiding him with a sudden trip to the local grocery store not ten miles away, and Rick didn’t know if the gray hairs this was surely costing him was worth the surprise she had planned.

As Rick considered this, the chatter around him continued save for Carl, who didn’t quite seem to understand what they were fighting about but laughed with everyone else anyway, and Daryl, who stayed back seated on the steps and observed Rick. Nobody else seemed to even notice how tense he was.

“No,” Rick interrupted suddenly, all eyes on him now. A hush fell around him and Maggie’s brows knit together in dissension, her thin hands dropping to her hips, and Rick felt guilty for the look of confusion on her face.

“Pardon?”

Rick stood firm, as firm as he could with the disappointment spreading all over her. “I said ‘no’.”

“Why?” This time, the questioning came from Glenn, who looked just as crestfallen as Maggie. Rick glanced at Hershel, sobered and sitting with Beth and Carol, and took a breath to keep himself from breaking his promise to the old man Greene. He knew he wasn’t being fair to the two younger adults, as they were both far too old to be hearing someone tell them ‘because I said so’, but Rick found himself lost on trying to come up with a better reason. 

“Doesn’t feel right,” Rick offered lamely, watching the disappointment in Maggie’s face meld into something more frustrated.

“We can handle ourselves out there, you know that,” insisted Maggie, a slight pout to her face. Rick had expected this reaction, this questioning, and wish he could give them the answers they deserved. “S’hardly any different than runs we’ve done before.”

Hershel stepped in, clearly used to his eldest daughter’s heurism, and chided, “Now Maggie, we need to trust Rick. If he doesn’t say it’s right with just the two of you out there, then -- ”

“Rick,” Glenn was quick to interrupt, face growing serious as he eyed Rick. “Is there something going on?”

Glenn was a sharp kid, and Rick respected him greatly for that, as inconvenient as it was at the moment. With a pounding heart, Rick swallowed thickly, unable to flat out lie to his comrade and instead tried to avoid the question entirely. “I just don’t like the idea of you two bein’ out there alone. What if something happens?”

Maggie’s face was calculating, eyes narrowed and supple bottom lip between her teeth, and Rick knew that wasn’t going to be enough for her. A moment later, she opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a voice from the back which drew the firing squad off of Rick for the time being.

“I’ll go with ‘em.”

Rick turned around to face the source of the deep sound, still seated on the steps onlooking, and Daryl’s sharp eyes were still on him meaningfully. “Daryl…” Rick trailed, knowing there wasn’t any argument against the hunter going out.

“That’s perfect!” Maggie lit up, all shades of doubt gone from her face and replaced by a newly found excitement. “You can help us with the surprise!”

Daryl scoffed, apparently far less amused than the farm girl was as he dragged his eyes away from Rick and to the young couple listlessly. “Do I look like the type who likes surprises?”

“Oh, you will,” promised Maggie, impish all over again. 

Hauling himself to his feet, Daryl approached Rick casually while the group resumed their chatter, his hands deep in his front pockets, and asked, “This alright by you?”

Rick chuckled humorlessly and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, rubbing away the worry and frustration and finding it in him to welcome at least someone asking his opinion. “Does it matter?”

Daryl was quick and firm in his response. “Yes.”

Sighing, Rick lowered his hands and looked up at Daryl, too weary and tired to offer a smile. “Just keep ‘em safe.”

The younger man nodded and Rick gave him a light companionable pat on the shoulder, hardly caring at Daryl’s usual reaction and instead heading straight for bed. Tomorrow at dawn, he, Hershel, and Oscar would leave for the small suburban town adorned with an abundance of berries and, Rick hoped to himself as he undid his jeans for bed, a lack of walkers and humans alike. 

As his head hit the pillow, Rick exhaled his worries, trying his best not to focus on the fact that other survivors were now starting to become just as much a danger as the threat of the walking dead. Instead, he let his mind wander and nearly regretted it when his thoughts settled firmly on Daryl.

Daryl.

Just what was this man to him? A companion? A fellow walker-killer? Someone he had managed to coexist with for a year and a half? That alone was impressive, Rick mused, considering his spotty relationship with nearly everyone else with in the group. Hell, even his own best friend, wife, son couldn’t maintain such a natural, easy-going pace with him. It seemed to be a fight, every day, with all of his loved ones.

Rick thought back to their meeting, seeing Daryl come out of the brush and expecting hell from this blonde angel upon explaining what happened to his brother. And for a while, hell is exactly what he got from the younger man, spitting and feral and justified, and it killed Rick to see him so lost and hurt. Their relationship had been tense, turbulent at first while Daryl hid behind the image his brother had constructed for him, spitting out empty threats and hollow slurs that Merle had so carefully taught him to mimic. It made Rick nervous at first, this wild card of a man and self-proclaimed Merle Jr., and for a while Rick instinctively had his hand at his holster around this Daryl Dixon. 

But the two almost immediately and naturally grew a respect for each other forged in hell itself, unshakeable and very much unlike anything Rick had felt before. It was terrifying that he saw so much of himself in this spitting, violent redneck, thrilling to have him at his back in battle, relieving to have someone he didn’t feel like he needed to say the right thing to. From the start, Daryl saw through all of the airs Rick had to put on for the sake of social graces, and Rick’s lungs became slowly, so slowly, addicted to the feel of breathing in oxygen not polluted with expectations or demands.

Daryl.

He was addicted to this man, one way or another. Rick couldn’t even begin to fathom when it had started, he could hardly even believe it now, but clearly Lori and Shane had caught on to something, privy to these strange highs Rick got around Daryl.

How long had Rick stayed oblivious to his own intoxication, his own need for the air that Daryl provided?

Searching for Sophia, going on hunts, Daryl getting shot --

Rick’s stomach churned at the memory. Daryl, bloodied and broken, emerging from the brush and looking like hell a hundred times over. Daryl, standing as tall and boldly as he could in the face of Rick’s approach, trying to hide his limp and his grieving arrow wound with all the pride he could muster. Daryl, sassing him one second, eyes alive and seeing straight past Rick’s Colt into his core, then recoiling and losing all fight in an instant, reeling from the bullet and hitting the ground the next second. In that moment, Rick shattered utterly and his blood seemed to disappear from his veins, leaving him empty and hollow. It took only a second to register what had happened, seeing the hunter collapsed in the dirt so lifelessly, and Rick remembered fearing the worst. He had turned towards the gunfire, unable to see who it was and unable to care, and bellowed as loud as he could, ‘no’.

He didn’t know when any of this had started, whatever this strange addiction was, but Rick loved it. It terrified him how much he loved it.

Though he wouldn’t dare risk venturing further into this feeling. Rick had a strange inkling that whatever was happening to him, whatever was causing his heart to tighten and mind to wander, it probably wasn’t appropriate for a best friendship. At forty years old, Rick was self-aware enough for that, at least. Especially considering this was towards Daryl, what’s likely the least affectionate person Rick had ever met, these were definitely not tendrils of desire to be explored.

Daryl.

It was embarrassing just how much this man affected him, Rick mused, curling up under the blankets and tugging them over his head to warm his ears. Rick didn’t exactly mind the idea of two men together having relations or being a couple or anything, but it’s not like Rick ever imagined he would feel anything towards another man. It just wasn’t him, wasn’t Rick Grimes.

Back in middle school, when Shane was sneaking pornos from his dad’s stash under the bed for them to watch together, Rick found himself occasionally glancing at the men. It was out of curiosity, he had reasoned mentally, and started jacking it when he saw the man finally climax in the film. It wasn’t a big deal to him because the whole point of porn, he thought, was to get off here and there. But after a while, Shane seemed to pick up on it and stopped inviting him over to watch together.

Even still, in this moment, Rick didn’t really think anything of it. Pornography was just overly sexualized all around, the men included, and it didn’t really bother Rick that he used to get off watching men orgasm. 

That didn’t mean he cared for men one way or another, and he never had before. There was no room in the image both his dad and Shane had constructed for him. Rick had always been aware that his old man and best friend had a mold that they were fitting him to, an expectation to live up to and a standard to uphold, and thus he started dating a girl who had been mooning over him for months, his one and only major girlfriend and partner, Lori Henson. 

Once he married her, both his pa and his best friend had been so proud of him. He was, essentially, a man now, like his whole identity had been riding on marrying the perfect gal. Shane was his best man at their wedding and told Rick what a lucky sum’bitch he was for finding him a girl like that, and if only Shane could be so lucky. His father gave him his approval and his blessing as he started his life as a new man, devoted to the perfect housewife. Hell, even Lori had developed an image for him to fit, shoes for him to fill, as the perfect husband she so desperately longed for. And Rick worked his ass off, day and night, to provide that existence for her until he was dead on the inside fourteen years later.

Rick peeked his head out from under the covers, struggling to breathe, and sucked in the icy night air into his lungs. He thumbed at his wedding band again, quickly becoming a guilty habit, and felt a pang of bitterness chewing him up inside.

After going through so much hell together, both before the apocalypse and after, Rick was utterly spent. He was sick of fitting into her ideal image for him, never feeling like he was enough to keep her happy, and was so drained of having to be something, someone, else. It was almost, almost, a relief when the world changed, because Rick thought for just a moment that he might shuck the facades created for him and be his own man, a chance to flourish in his own identity. 

But between Lori and Shane, he was given hell for it.

He missed them, both of them, despite their faults and misgivings and sheer anguish they caused him in the end. But Rick didn’t miss the expectations, and felt near liberated in some sick, twisted way. Lately, he had been considering taking his wedding ring off, for whatever that meant to the world, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw away the last bit of his wife. The guilt of it all tore at him, and he swallowed his thoughts, his memories, his unnamed feelings towards Daryl, and settled into his uncomfortable, poorly-fitted mold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels good to be back. Now that I have computer access again, expect another chapter in a day or two. This slow burn is killing me, I nearly want to jump to the juicy bits. 
> 
> You know what I'm talking about.


	13. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beautiful beta, redneckwoman, worked her ass off to help me manage this chapter while I typed it all from a dingy tablet. She's sweet and fantastic and go check out her work sometime if you haven't already!

Sleep had not come easy, what with all of his excitement, and finally Carol came in from her overnight watch to tell them that the sun was up, strap your guns on, time to go! Her voice was exhausted and face withered as she slumped towards her cell, completely oblivious to the flutter of sheets being thrown off and ecstatic movement filling the cell. He was practically humming with excitement, as Rick had everyone locked down for quite a while, and couldn't keep from jostling his sleeping girlfriend as he rose from bed. 

Glenn quickly threw off his flannel pj's and grabbed a different set of clothes from his pile of various garments, ones less caked with sweat and grime but still far from being ‘clean’, as his girlfriend would tell him. He turned to look at her as she groaned sleepily, clearly disturbed by his manic mood, and smiled at her brightly.

“‘Morning, Maggie,” he chirped, sliding his arms through his shirt before maneuvering his head through.

Maggie moaned at him again, pulling the covers up to her head. “What time is it, babe?” she slurred drowsily, rolling on her side away from her boyfriend. Glenn rolled his eyes a bit at her -- for someone who was usually a morning person, his girlfriend could sure be hard to wake up sometimes. And she couldn't have picked a worse morning to sleep like a rock, he wanted to get going!

“Time to gear up, that’s what time it is!” Glenn bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to warm up his legs as he threw on his jacket. Man, he was nearly ready and Maggie wasn't even out of bed yet. He stopped and wondered vaguely if this is what dating her in the old days would have been like, when waking up early could have been as harmless as them going out for coffee. A supply run was nothing more than a quick trip to the grocery store for dinner, back when surviving simply meant delivering pizzas for a living. Would they have ever even met if not for the living corpses plaguing the earth?

Some things aren't meant to be answered, Glenn concluded and shook his musings away. None of it mattered, anyway, because all they had were the hands that had been dealt to them -- meaning no coffee, no shopping, and most certainly no pizza.

Pizza...

Glenn groaned inwardly at the thought while in the middle of lacing his shoes. It was way too early to be getting this deep, not on top of being this hungry as well. He looked back to his girlfriend, unsurprised that she hadn't moved from her sleeping position on the bed, and thought that as far as apocalypses go, he could’ve been dealt worse cards, really. Maybe they’d get lucky at the supermarket Maggie was taking them to and he could surprise her with a box of condoms or something. They were running alarmingly low on their current stash, and damn it all if Glenn couldn't at least hold on to some sort normalcy in their relationship.

“We’re gonna be late, Mags!” Glenn finished tying his shoes and stood up, alive and ready for something other than these stale prison walls.

“Hnng,” she heaved, folding the pillow over her ear. 

Exasperated, Glenn marched over to her and pulled back the sheets, to which she jumped and curled up against the cold and peered up at him in annoyance. “What’re you going on about?”

Glenn couldn't help the bemused face he made at his silly girlfriend. “Uh, our busy day. C’mon, Daryl’s probably already waiting for us!”

Clarity blossomed on her pretty features and her annoyance quickly evaporated into an eagerness to match his own. She got up and at ‘em hastily enough and undressed, tossing aside her clothes, to which Glenn grinned and said, “Well, good morning to you, too.” She scoffed and tossed a balled up shirt at him, laughing when it nailed him in his smirking face, and finished dressing.

“Ya should’ve woken me up sooner,” scolded Maggie, yanking a brush through her bedhead to try and keep her hair somewhat manageable. At least with Rick’s temporary incarceration of everyone, she didn't have to worry about picking muck and gore out of her hair lately. Always find the bright side of things.

Glenn’s face was mystified in response, and his voice incredulous. “You’re kidding.”

Maggie laughed, a pretty sound in the echoing room, and set down her mangey brush to wrap her arms around her boyfriend’s neck. “I’m kidding,” she concurred, giving him a quick ‘good morning’ kiss. Pulling back, she winced slightly and said, “Maybe let’s find some mouthwash, hon.”

She finished getting ready and they left the cell together, hand in hand, and Glenn couldn't help his growling stomach. “Not before we find some food.”

Daryl was there in the dining area, alone and waiting, with an opened can of tomato soup in his hands. Steam was wisping through the icy morning air from the can and Glenn’s stomach lurched enviously -- it sure wasn't pizza, but it was something. The hunter nodded at the two as they entered and he took another swig from the tin, looking them up and down from over the soup can with his keen eyes. Those very eyes used to unnerve Glenn, he remembered sheepishly, back when he was mind-deep in old beliefs and reservations. Back when he was just ‘the Chinaman’. But now, after Daryl had saved their lives and risked his own repeatedly for them, Glenn felt a sense of comfort around those weird, perceptive eyes.

“Hey, Daryl!” Glenn rang, smiling at the older man. His voice reverberated back to them, and Daryl winced slightly and his volume. 

Maggie squeezed Glenn’s hand before walking towards their meager storage of food, trying to find whatever canned something suited her fancy. “G’morning, partner,” she greeted, smiling over to Daryl who swallowed his ketchup-y mouthful and said ‘hey’ in return. “You excited for your surprise, yet?”

Snorting derisively into his soup, Daryl threw it back and downed the rest, wiping his mouth with his sleeve when he was finished and tossing the can towards the trash. He smirked at her as she settled on a couple of cans and said, “Thrilled.”

Glenn took the can of peas offered to him, irrationally disappointed that it wasn't something hot and delicious like pizza, and looked for a can opener. He was surprised when Daryl offered him his knife, muttering something about Carol rearranging things and him not knowing where any of this shit was anymore. Laughing, Glenn took it gratefully and stabbed the can open, jiggling it around until there was a hole at the top and trying not to look too inept at this.

“Don’t hurt yerself,” Daryl smirked as Glenn tried to mimic the opening in Daryl’s soup can. “Can’t go fer a run with you bleeding out.”

“I think I know how to open a can with a knife.” Scoffing, Glenn continued to jimmy the knife around in the tin until he pretended to be satisfied with his handiwork. Then he gave the blade to Maggie, who started working on her own can. “Let me know if you need help, babe.”

“Think I can manage,” Maggie finished with ease, grinning at him lightheartedly and handing the knife back to Daryl. The two finished their paltry breakfast while Daryl prepared the weapons -- his crossbow, two large hunting knives, a crowbar, and two handguns with one clip of ammo each. Naturally, Daryl shouldered his crossbow and its half a dozen arrows, leaving the rest for Maggie and Glenn who quickly suited up. 

Armed and fed, the three wasted no time in making their leave and headed out of the prison, deciding quickly to take the old Chevy Camaro as their ride. It was the fastest vehicle they had at the moment and Daryl wanted to leave the Ford pickup for Rick’s group outing. Glenn wasn't one to argue, as he himself had found the car a few months back and loved the thing dearly. It would have been a stallion in its prime, but time and hell on earth had ravaged it for its aesthetics and torque. All things said and done, though, he was insanely proud of this find.

“I’m driving,” he announced, all grinning and cocky, and damn near skipped to the driver’s side expectantly. 

“Pffft.” Daryl shook his head, smirking as he produced the keys to the car and Glenn deflated with a “friggen a-”. He held them up and jingled them mockingly as he approached the driver’s side, hip bumping Glenn out of the way in a rare show of victory. “Don’t think so, little man. Early bird gets the car.”

Heaving a sigh, Glenn trotted to the passenger side of the car. “Fine. But I call shotgun. And, I get to drive on the way back.”

“We’ll see.” Daryl chuckled at Glenn’s attempt to be domineering and unlocked the car to slide inside, starting it up once he arranged the seat. Glenn sat in the passenger side and watched Maggie run to the gate to unchain it and heft it open for them to pass through. The path outside was relatively void of walkers, save for a couple geeks near the forest line that must have been drawn by the Camaro’s engine, and Maggie quickly shut the gate once they were through. 

Glenn smiled as he watched her, hair flinging in the chilly wind and arms forcing the chain closed, but caught sight of someone walking down the prison hill in his sideview mirror. It was Axel, bright and early, and sluggishly making his way to the guard tower for his morning watch. As with Rick’s mounting security, this didn't sit well with the Korean man and he had to wonder just what had spooked Rick into all of these old defensive measures. They hadn't had a series of guard shifts for a few good months, believing they had finally found sanctuary in this unexpected place, and the fact that Rick started it again so abruptly wasn't lost on Glenn.

“Daryl?” Glenn started, turning from the mirror to look at the hunter.

“Ya ain’t driving.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he dismissed with reproach, like a child being scolded yet again, and continued to buckle up. The hunter was watching the two walkers creep towards them as Maggie weaved the chain in between the metal links of the fence, and Glenn tried to broach the other man again as they waited. “You know what’s going on with Rick, don’t you?”

Daryl visibly tensed at the question and nibbled his bottom lip, never taking his eyes off the walking corpses, and remained silent. Glenn closed his eyes and sighed -- of course Daryl knew what was going on with Rick. He _always_ knew what was going on with Rick, it seemed like. It made Glenn wonder if that’s why Daryl had volunteered to go with him and Maggie today in the first place, and made sense why Rick didn't protest them leaving once Daryl was involved. As frustrating as this stoic man was, like literally _all the time_ , Glenn couldn't help but appreciate him staying with them. He was part of the family, a central part that Rick couldn't seem to deny like he could everyone else. Like the parental figures, Glenn thought with mirth, and cracked a grin at the thought. Glenn had never thought of Daryl as ‘motherly’ or ‘nurturing’, but he was clearly the mother hen to Rick’s patriarch. 

Grinning avidly, Glenn turned back to Daryl who was now lighting a cigarette and puffing on it, keeping his gaze away from Glenn’s pestering face and towards the windshield. “Hey, Daryl.” 

“What?” Daryl growled around the filter, puffing smoke in Glenn’s direction without actually sparing him a glance.

_Maybe he’s not that motherly,_ Glenn thought and swatted away at the cloud of heavy vapor in his face, smile faltering as he quickly decided against mentioning it to him. Daryl never seemed to take well to other people commenting about his and Rick’s dynamic in the group, and Glenn probably risked a black eye or two by calling him a ‘mother hen’. Though, for sure, he’d bring it up to Maggie later when they were both out of danger of the infamous Dixon temper.

“Uh, nothing,” Glenn trailed off, changing gears back towards his initial thought. “But… Is Rick ever going to tell us what’s going on?”

At this, Daryl finally let his incisive eyes flicker towards Glenn and took a long drag on his cigarette butt, letting the smoke pour from his nostrils and filling the car with a fog before he answered. It made Glenn’s sensitive eyes water, but he kept them focused on Daryl in search of an answer. 

“You gotta trust him,” Daryl finally said tightly. 

Glenn opened his mouth to push further, unsatisfied with that, but Daryl spoke first to cut him off. “The man’s gotten us this far, he ain’t gonna let anything happen if he has a say in it. And he always does.”

Daryl was watching the walkers again as Maggie finished with the lock and trotted to the car, all smiles. “If there is a problem, you need to trust that Rick’s going to do right by us, best he can.” The hunter took one last inhale of smoke before grounding the cherry red ash into the dashboard, putting out his cigarette and buckling his seatbelt. “And the ‘best he can’ should be damn terrifying to anyone dumb enough to cross him.”

Silence fell between the two men as Maggie swung the rear door open, the walkers shambling too close behind her for Glenn’s comfort, and slid in. Buckling up excitedly, she glanced up at the men and seemed to feel the weight heavy in the air between them mixed in with the smog. 

“Did I miss something?” she asked. “What were you boys going on about?”

Peering back at her through the rearview mirror, Daryl quirked his lips upwards and said, “How you sure like to take your sweet ass time with that gate. Christ, woman, we’re burning daylight here.” Glenn choked back a laugh and Daryl pulled out of park now that they were all situated and drove off, careful not to disturb any of his traps as they hit the main road.

“Well, _sorry_ ,” she huffed at his sass. “Next time you can just drive right on through, then.”

~~~~~

The drive was short enough, mainly filled with Maggie’s navigating, and they eventually pulled up to the abandoned grocery store. As playful as they were, now was all business and the time to sober up, so they parked close enough to the entrance, readied their weapons, finetuned their senses. 

Glenn had a loose, comfortable grip on his knife hilt as he unbuckled his seatbelt and looked around on his side. “Clear over here,” he announced.

“We got one to the left,” Maggie called out as they left the Camaro.

“Two to the front,” Daryl responded, and the three of them made quick work of the walkers and cleared the perimeter. With that said and done, they tackled the store and found more geeks inside, going aisle by aisle to clear the place out until eventually it was safe enough to lower their weapons and relax a bit.

“Now just what the hell are we here for?” Daryl spat at a corpse, stepping over it and looking to Maggie, who was now coated in a fresh layer of decrepit mess. She pulled out a piece of paper with what appeared to be Carol’s handwriting scribbled all over it and then looked up at the aisle indicators, mapping out what she needed and where before she answered him.

“Uh… Flour, sugar, various spices…” she read off, looking uncertain of some of the list items. “Pumpkin filling? Will that even be good anymore?” Daryl and Glenn shrugged, and Maggie continued. “Feminine hygiene, fertilizer, paint, and…” Maggie glanced up at them, grinning playfully in her dramatic pause, “Liquor!”

Daryl immediately brightened and said, “Now it’s Thanksgiving. At least I’ll have something to be thankful for.”

“It’ll be faster if we split up,” Glenn started, but was cut off by Daryl quickly calling dibs on getting the alcohol and walking away towards the booze aisle. “Alright, then. I’ll take the fertilizer and the… feminine… stuff.” He winced, not even really knowing what that entailed, which Maggie laughed at.

“Why don’t I take care of that?” she insisted, and Glenn was infinitely grateful to his girlfriend. It wouldn't have been his first time venturing down that particular area of the store, and probably wouldn't have been his last, but it was never something he could say he really enjoyed. Trying to pick this product or that, not even knowing what half of this stuff was, and grimacing when he found out always made him feel a little inadequate about running errands for the ladies. With their jobs sorted, Glenn and Maggie split up and ran to their respective aisles. 

It took very little time for Glenn to heft out massive bags of fertilizer, though his body could only bear to lift one at a time anymore with the state it was in. After he had packed away four bags of the dirt into the trunk of the car, he figured they had enough to last them a while, even though in reality he had no idea. He was about as familiar with gardening as he was with feminine hygiene products. 

With his work finished, he found himself joining Daryl in the liquor aisle, looking at the various different spirits and thinking back to his first time getting actually sloshed back at the CDC. His head throbbed at the memory of it and the morning after, how miserable he had been, and hoped Daryl wasn't going to get more wine or champagne. But he shook his head when he remembered who it was picking out their alcohol -- Daryl didn't seem much like the fine wine type. Still, Glenn eyed the bottles of peach schnapps and coconut rum hungrily, finally settling on a cotton candy infused vodka. He reached for it, touching the smooth, dusty glass, and wondered if he could get away with saying it was for Maggie or something. 

Looking around to make sure no one was watching, Glenn picked it up, feeling the heavy weight of the clear liquor slosh in his hands temptingly, and vaguely considered sliding it into his jacket. Glenn remembered having loved cotton candy and was dying to know what it tasted like with an added buzz to it, but knew none of the guys back at camp would let him live it down.

Hell, if Daryl knew he was even considering the sugary drink -- Glenn hated to imagine the humiliation he’d be put through.

“Whatchya got there?”

Glenn jolted so far into the air that he nearly crash landed backwards at the hunter’s voice, calling out to him from down towards the endcap of the shelves. He had quite a few bottles tucked under his arm already and started walking towards a red-faced Glenn, who quickly replaced the cotton candy vodka and grabbed the first bottle his groping hand found. 

“Nothing! Just…” Glenn turned the bottle over to read it, wincing when he saw what was in his hands. “Red Hot Tabasco Bourbon. Sounds great.”

His throat clenched at the sounds of this hellish drink, as there’s nothing that could offend his palate more than spicy hard liquor, he imagined. Oh hell, thinking about the morning after a night of something called ‘Red Hot Tabasco Bourbon’ made him consider joining Hershel in his sobriety. All he wanted was a cotton candy induced intoxication. Daryl eyed the amber bottle in Glenn’s hand, raising his brows at the clearly distressed Asian man next to him.

“Bourbon, huh? Didn't peg you as the type,” Daryl admitted, grabbing the glass from Glenn’s hands and turning it over in his palm. He placed it back on the shelf, to Glenn’s pleasant surprise, and reached for a darker bottle instead. 

“But if you want to get shitfaced, this is what you do it on,” the hunter smirked as he grabbed a bottle of Wild Turkey whiskey. “That’ll put some hair on yer chest.” Daryl pressed the bottle to Glenn’s ribs and shooed him back to the car to wait for Maggie while he continued to browse the old, dusty bottles. Glenn took the whiskey outside and mourned the missed chance to find out what cotton candy vodka tasted like. The real airy confection was a thing of the past, surely all dissolved to nothingness by now, and Glenn sighed and shoved it to the back of his mind where pizza and video games were stored nostalgically. 

Moments later, he saw Maggie and Daryl emerge from the grocery store with paper bags filled to the brim with stuff, some of them looking incredibly heavy. Glenn quickly opened the trunk for them and piled everything in as a small gang of shambling, gurgling figures came down the street towards them. Daryl started up the engine, Glenn too nervous about the oncoming walkers to complain about their driving arrangements, and peeled out of the parking lot back towards home.

~~~~~

By the time Rick pulled back into the camp, he and his two companions were covered in dirt and sweat with a touch of pink and purple tart to their lips. The mood was jovial, Oscar telling them about the last time he got to see the world beyond the prison walls, Hershel planning out their garden and what to grow in the winter season, and Rick finally relaxing enough to enjoy the company of his family.

Axel pulled the gate open for them, the walkers around the prison far more numerous than when they had left, and Rick parked the Ford further up the hill for Hershel's sake. Between Rick and Oscar, the truck was unloaded of the foliage rather quickly and Hershel helped instruct them on what plants needed more sun than others and various other flora temperaments. The transferring of the produce couldn't actually be started until Daryl's group returned from their grocery run for fertilizer, but Rick got to work digging out a patch of soil large enough to house everything they managed to salvage. It wasn't going to be anything as fancy as a greenhouse, not yet anyway, but Rick had decided that in recent light of new dangers, it was best for them to have an immediate resource rather than have to go on runs every time they wanted something fresh to eat. Besides, as far as he was concerned, this really made the prison feel like home, solidified their fresh start.

Rick started a good distance from the empty graves atop the hill and dug outwards, creating a massive pit, the damp, upturned soil packed along the edges of his rectangular landscape while Hershel went inside and Oscar went to the guard tower for the beginning of his watch shift. Rick watched him go, taking comfort in the measures set to defend themselves, however small they were. The group had reacted poorly at first, baffled or pissed at his sudden rule set in place without much of an explanation other than, "I just don't want us losing our edge", but eventually settled into shifts without further fuss.

"Yo, Rick!" 

Wiping the pouring sweat from his face, Rick looked up and saw Oscar gesturing at the gate and paused at the sound of the Camaro's engine approaching. The car itself made an appearance not a minute later and Rick tore down the hill to greet them, pulling the gate open while Oscar took out a walker trying to squeeze its way in. With everyone safe inside, Rick looped the padlock around the fence as the rumbling engine died, a thick stillness brimming with expectation filled the air.

The driver's side door opened and Daryl ducked out of the seat gracefully, eyes landing on Rick when he straightened and nodded to him. When Rick acknowledged him back, Daryl leaned down to pop the trunk and Rick eyed the paper bags within, feeling an excitement at their success and relief at their return.

"We come bearing gifts!" Glenn was smiling ear to ear as he got out and opened the door for Maggie.

Shaking his head, Rick strode to Daryl and asked, "Was it worth it?" His tone was playful for everyone else's sake, but his eyes held a seriousness only meant for Daryl and he hoped his friend was able to read the fine print of Rick's question. Daryl studied his face for a moment before shrugging and answered just as playfully.

"Any car ride with these two buffoons is gonna be trouble," Daryl smirked at him, jerking his thumb at the buffoons in question who glared at his back while they unloaded the trunk of the groceries. "But we managed."

Feeling his nerves stringing back together, Rick exhaled and smiled at Daryl, who turned away awkwardly and asked Rick if he needed help with the yard. Rick scanned his current progress and bit his cheek, trying to figure out just how the hell to make a garden work when his own home from before the Turn was adorned with fake, plastic greenery. A compromise between him and Lori so long ago, after repeated plant funerals from Lori's fruitless green thumb and Rick having to empty out the porcelain caskets, dirt and all. She had still insisted on having a beautiful shrubbery backdrop for their equally artificial lives, insisted on making burnt pancakes every Saturday morning that eventually just stayed cold and spongy on the counter, untouched.

Insisted on filling molds and playing roles, whatever their image needed them to be.

Rick shrugged and said, "Not 'less you know how to fashion some kinda canopy or awning. Can't see the crops dealing with snow all too well."

"Pffft, c'mon, Grimes," Daryl shouldered past him lightly, sounding nearly offended as he muttered smugly, "Be the best damn awning you'll ever see." Together, the two worked on the garden while Maggie and Glenn went inside with the groceries, Axel went to bed, and the rest of his family casually busied themselves. It seemed, as usual, it was Rick and Daryl with the dirty work.

For the most part, they worked in silence, Daryl crafting a makeshift canopy out of tarp and wood while Rick poured fertilizer into the trench. He would occasionally catch himself watching the hunter work, something that very rarely went unnoticed by the perceptive man, which in turn made the men quickly look away with Rick’s head spinning. His mind was stuck and had been settled in this emotional rut since his realization the night before, the realization that Rick was clearly compelled to Daryl for more than just neighborly companionship. After he had promised himself to Lori, he never imagined himself with another person, as he took his marriage vows seriously. But when those crumbled around him, sifting through his desperate fingers, Rick understood now that he had been searching for more than just an outlet in Daryl. How long this had been going on without his cognizance made Rick’s throat thick with guilt. 

This wasn't something he wanted coming between him and Daryl, terrified that he would ruin a relationship he was in dire need of in his life, in this world. He needed Daryl, he knew, and risked everything by being careless with his feelings and developing some kind of strange, magnetic attraction that the younger would most definitely be appalled by. Betrayed, even, that his best friend, someone Daryl looked up to and respected, was secretly mooning after him, pining after him in private and ogling at him quite shamefully out of the corner of his eye. Rick turned his back to Daryl, leaning his weight on the rake and pressing his forehead to the back of his dirt-crusted gloves.

Thinking back to Merle and his bigotry, Rick couldn't imagine Daryl reacting in any other way than spitting rage or flying fists. 

Rick shook his head sheepishly, flicking sweat from his beard and smearing dirt on his forehead as he did so - he knew better than to compare Daryl to his tilted brother and his prejudiced mindset. But despite how loving and compassionate Daryl was beneath his coarse exterior, it wasn't likely that he would accept Rick's painfully obvious feelings for him, much less reciprocate them. No, this was something he needed to swallow and bury, let die because it wasn't fair to Daryl, Lori, Shane, Carl, anybody except for him to have these electric, irresistible sensations and affections towards the other man. His own secret, dark and dirty, smothered and neglected. It was a bitter feeling, having to ignore such a thrilling surge of happiness and lightheaded elation Daryl gave him, reviving and resuscitating Rick's idle heart. But Rick would rather have suffered in silence than estrange Daryl.

These secrets were threatening to drown him.

"You okay?"

The voice behind him startled him and Rick jerked back to reality, turning painfully to look at Daryl and the impressive homemade canopy next to him. Rick hoped the smile he shot Daryl didn't look as hollow as it felt and carefully ignored the question by gesturing to the tarp awning and said, "Man, you weren't kidding. That's... That's great, Daryl." 

Daryl kept his cat-like eyes on Rick who was still leaning against the rake and shrugged, dismissing Rick's deflection with one of his own. "Wouldn't be my first awning, anyway."

Something about Daryl's tone made Rick think back to their overnight stay in the Dodge Neon almost a week ago, something that had nagged at his conscious at the time. Rick had kept it under lock and key ever since, terrified of over analyzing one thing or another and fueling his fantasies, seeing things that weren't there as irrational hope tended to do to a person. But now, with Daryl coming closer, his own heart thudding, he found that he couldn't keep the questions, the deafening demands urging him forward to Daryl, from his lips.

"Daryl --" 

Before Rick could continue, before he could even catch his breath, he felt Daryl's hand on him, grazing his face, and his heart skipped a beat. He was frozen still, not wanting to interrupt the moment, some dizzying anticipation winding him and halting his buzzing mind, and watched Daryl as he reached up to Rick's forehead. His hand was cold, but welcome against Rick's flushing face and he parted his lips to suck in a much needed breath, feeling lightheaded. Daryl's eyes flickered to the movement, fingers pausing in their wiping the dirt off Rick's forehead, and Rick felt himself swaying.

Stunned, confused, Rick closed his eyes and let a wave of indulgence wash over him from Daryl's fingertips, trembling when Daryl ran the knuckle of his forefinger down his face with far more tenderness than he would have imagined from the hunter. There was something here, something palpable between them, and felt the sparks of some notion coming from Daryl, a sense of his intentions that left Rick strangely timid going forward. He had felt this design before, only once, resulting in his first kiss ever way back with Lori, but with Daryl, everything was shrouded in novelty and left Rick uncertain. Were these slight touches and imploring eyes indicative of... What?

Rick's heart rate thundered in his ears as he dared to think for just a moment that maybe Daryl was just as stricken as he was, indulged in the idea that this meant something. He exhaled a shaky breath, too scared to look at Daryl in fear of shattering this moment, and inched his head just slightly into the feel of Daryl's touch. He felt Daryl's hand pause in its descent, freezing up at Rick's tactile feedback, and Rick felt a surge of need for more. 

"Rick?"

Hershel's voice snapped Rick out of his impulse, Daryl's hand jerking away like it had been electrocuted and Rick's eyes flicking open so fast that he was seeing stars. Daryl dropped his hand immediately, but didn't remove himself otherwise and just gazed at Rick. Senses reeling, Rick returned his stare as he slowly, shakily, stepped back and away from the other man, horrified by what he almost did, the lines that he almost crossed.

"You..." Rick started, mouth gaping slightly. Unable to speak properly and hardly knowing what to say, Rick looked away, a pain squeezing in his chest and an embarrassment blooming in his face. "You should go."

A look of hurt flitted across Daryl's unusually vulnerable face, quickly replaced by a dark expression steeped in offense and unbridled rejection. Rick opened his mouth to say something, anything, to fix Daryl's broken appearance, but closed it when he realized there was nothing he could say to make matters any better. For sure, no _'sorry, I jumped to conclusions and thought you were dropping hints'_. No _'silly me for almost jumping you without any warning_ ', either. Definitely no ' _I couldn't help myself, I've just wanted you for so long and it hasn't hit me until just now_ '. There was nothing Rick could do to salvage this, and it was best for Daryl's sake that he just leave.

'Pariah' wasn't right, but it was the first word to come to mind. 

And Rick was alone, physically and emotionally, while Daryl left without another word. Sighing, he plopped himself down on the edge of the garden trough, boots sinking into the fertilized dirt, and hung his head. Just as Lori said in the midst of their fights, it was as if Rick could never do the right thing, say the right words, act the right way. There was something about Daryl that let him lower all inhibitions, lose all reason, shed the skin of the world and be himself. For the longest time, Daryl saw through his carefully constructed image anyway, shattering this illusion of normalcy, and Rick felt naked under those thin cut eyes. They took pleasure in scanning him all over and decoding his secrets, unraveling him from his core. It was unsettling at first, but between Shane making demands and Lori chastising him, eventually Rick grew to love it. 

After all this undeserved happiness, now Rick was finally starting to make misplaced claims on the man. He wasn't being fair to the younger of them while acting this selfish. He needed self-control to do right by Daryl, despite these deep seated tendrils of desire that was was just now tuning into.

Rick held his heavy head in his hand, feeling the spot where Daryl's ghostly fingers had been stroking. Silently, Hershel came up next to him and carefully maneuvered himself down next to Rick, who shifted to make room for the older man without looking up. He knew what the older man had seen between him and Daryl just then, knew where Hershel's dusty old beliefs stood on his feelings for another man, and wasn't looking forward to the surely unavoidable conversation coming despite the long silence stretching on.

Just as Rick expected, Hershel cleared his throat to speak, but the words that came threw Rick for a loop. "That's a beautiful awning you two built. Sturdy, lasting, I'd imagine."

Furrowing his brow, Rick turned his head so he could look at the canopy, then Hershel. He definitely couldn't argue that the piece looked finely built for their resources, an attention to detail that only Daryl seemed to possess for handiwork, but was put off by something in Hershel's subtle insinuation. "That was all Daryl," he couldn't help saying bitterly.

"He built that by himself?"

Rick nodded and remained silent, and after a minute, Hershel continued. "He did a fine job, then. Though, I'd imagine, and excuse me for saying this, that had you contributed, it would have been something magnificent."

There was a defensive rush to Rick's cheeks as he straightened, turning to face Hershel who was eyeing him carefully. "Yeah, well, I was busy tilling the fertilizer." Hershel smiled at him, which only fueled his strange irritation further, and bent over to reach into the mixed dirt to pull out a pinch full. He rubbed the soil between his fingers, both of them watching it cascade back to earth, before patting the residue off on his jeans.

"Good, good," Hershel smiled innocently enough at Rick, but there was a touch of something cryptic in his undertone, an enigmatic air about his words. "A mound of soil can't begin to grow anything if it's not open to trying first."

Patience running thin and shame already burning in him, Rick couldn't keep the words being sourly flung from his mouth. "Don't I know it?"

"Do you?"

Rick cocked his head, looking up at Hershel whose smile was gone from his bushy face. He had grown serious, wrinkles in his face made deeper by the cast of the slowly setting sun, and Rick had to take a moment to let what he believed Hershel was saying to sink in. It spun his mind, baffled him, and he had to ask him just what he meant by that in order to find any clarity. Hershel exhaled and put a hand on Rick’s uninjured shoulder, taking a moment to answer.

“Rick, if you want to keep acting like nothing’s going on, that’s fine,” Hershel squeezed Rick’s right shoulder, but the man couldn't feel it over the efflux of his heart plummeting to his stomach at hearing these words now, coming from another person, when he himself had just barely registered that there was anything going on at all. “But I can’t pretend like I didn't just see what happened between you and Daryl.”

“Hershel, that was -- We weren't -- ” Rick tried to defend, tried to reason, with himself more so than with the older man, but Hershel stopped him with a look and Rick exhaled, defeated. “I don’t know what that was,” he offered honestly and folded back into himself, hiding his face in his hands and trying to quell his aching head.

“I think we've all been there before.” There was a deep chuckle coming from Hershel that Rick looked over at and saw Hershel nodding his head understandably. “Although, in the end, I think it matters more what the two of you want it to be.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want it to be!” Rick suddenly straightened, looking to his companion with a long fed flame alight in his eyes. “‘Less you forgot, I’m a married man, Hershel!” A short silence filled them as Rick faltered over his own words, quickly correcting himself. “I mean, I -- I was.” Flustered, dejected, Rick buried his face in his hands again, feeling the overwhelming frustration setting in his cheeks. 

Hershel’s hand left his shoulder and Rick didn't look up. “I think… I can understand where you’re coming from, Rick.”

Rick waited for him to continue, having no clue what to say himself, and fiddled with his wedding ring while Hershel cleared his throat. “My first wife and Maggie’s mother, Josephine, was beyond what I ever thought I’d find in life. She was a partner, a mother, an assistant, a friend, until she wasn't.” Hershel took a deep breath, folding his fingers and leaning on his knees pensively. “Now I never told Maggie this, but Jo and I, we fought quite a bit towards the end of her life. I turned to drink, and that ox of a woman, she’d lock me out.” Chuckling, eyes lost in something far away and long gone, Hershel explained, “She was tough and stubborn and unforgiving, Rick, but as much as we fought and as much distance had grown in our hearts, I never could forgive myself when the Lord took her.”

He fell to silence now, locked away in his memories of a different place, and Rick felt a desperate need for his story to continue, for it not to end there. So he lifted his head and prompted, “What did you end up doing?”

“Besides losing a few years to liquor?” Hershel joked, brought out of his reverie with a smile. Perhaps it was obvious just how much Rick needed to hear more, a happy ending, despite knowing full well that happy endings were hard to come by in the apocalypse. Hell, they were rare and precious and unknown to Rick even before the walker disease ate away people’s brains. “I dealt with it, Rick.” Hershel’s voice was adamant now, eyes firm on Rick’s, and said, “I didn't let grief ravage me. Didn't let my wife’s death define me. I learned how to deal with it because otherwise, I can’t guarantee I’d be sitting here with you now.

“And if I hadn't learned how to cope with my guilt, I never would have met my darling Annette.”

Rick’s ears were ringing with Hershel’s words, heart aflame with the prospect of being happy again, no strings attached. It was unfathomable to Rick, but saw that Hershel had managed it somehow and felt the blossoms of hope budding in his veins. But he batted it down, dammed his heady hope, when he realized that it was unlikely that Carl would see things that way.

“And Maggie?” wondered Rick out loud.

Hershel chuckled. “Maggie is so much like her mother, headstrong and knows how to hold a grudge. I’m sure you can imagine what it’s like dealing with a teenager who blames you for their mother’s death.”

That struck a chord in Rick as he remembered just how cold and deadened Carl had looked when Rick had first learned of Lori’s fate. How anesthetized his son had been after that, unfeeling and unresponsive to Rick’s attempt at fatherly affection, apathetic to Rick’s desperate try at reconnecting with him. It killed Rick twice over, but things had started to progress between them finally these past few months, whether things were looking up or down or anywhere in between, Carl seemed alive again. Feeling. 

“But eventually Maggie came around to the idea of me remarrying. Of course she wasn't happy that I had met someone new, and accused me of trying to replace Josephine,” Hershel continued. “But we both had to learn that moving on didn't mean replacing anyone.”

Rick tried to wrap his head around Hershel’s words. Who would know better than this man what it meant to love someone while still holding onto a past marriage?

“How do you just…” Rick trailed off, a lump of fresh guilt cutting off his sentence, and tried to start again. “Our marriage was in shambles long before all this. Even when we didn't have to worry about being torn apart by walkers, we were still tearing each other apart. It was a constant fight, Hershel.

“And I always thought: one day we were going to fix it. Fix us. I held onto that belief, even through the dead rising, I believed that we had time. That we would make it.” Rick shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he relived all of his shame as a husband. “But one day, I just stopped. Stopped trying, stopped caring, stopped everything, and I don’t know if I realized it or not. She did, Carl did, but I don’t even know if I cared to.” Hands clenched, mind racing, Rick thought back to every mistake they had made, and just how obviously unhealthy it all had been. 

“I could forgive her relations with Shane,” Rick defended. “Hell, I could even forgive her lying and hiding it all the time, and I did. But damn it all, Hershel, when she blamed me for Shane’s death, I… I couldn't do it. I couldn't get past the spiteful looks, the constant pushing me away, the way she’d hold Carl from me. Like I was some monster, Hershel.”

His eyes were stinging now, tears daring to form, and he pressed his palms to them to keep them at bay. Hershel, understanding as always, gripped Rick’s shoulder again as Rick sputtered out, “I gave up.”

“I don’t think anyone would see what you went through as giving up.”

“Lori did,” Rick rebutted, bitterly. “And whenever we managed to talk about it, she let me know it. I messed up, Hershel, everything got messed up between us. And there was nothing I could do about it in the end. The last thing I deserve is to move on and pretend it never happened.”

Hershel gathered his words before continuing, watching the sun graze the horizon. “I won’t pretend to know why God does what he does, but what I do know is that punishing yourself won’t get you anywhere, Rick. Now that boy of yours needs his father, the group needs their leader, and I daresay that Daryl needs you, too. You aren't helping anyone by holding onto this guilt, most certainly not yourself. Letting go isn't pretending your marriage never happened. It did happen, and it didn't end well.”

Rick cringed at that, muttering “Ain't that the truth.”

“You’ll always have your time together to reflect on, as I often do with both Josephine and Annette, but that was from a different life, Rick. A life that wasn't made for this world and a life that you cannot go back to. There is no shame or guilt in trying to make the best out of what you have anymore, otherwise we’re all guilty. Lori would have wanted you to make the best world possible for you and your children, and if Daryl is how you do that, then it’s something we will all support.”

Glancing up at the awning, then to Lori’s grave alone and watching them silently, Rick felt his burdens swimming around his head nauseatingly. Hershel gave him time to reflect on their conversation, and with his constant guilt abiding slightly, Rick felt lighter than he had in months. In the midst of his contemplation, something funny hit him and he turned to Hershel, sitting quietly and watching the sunset.

“I mean no offense, but you’re the last person I’d have imagined supporting… Well, this,” he gestured lamely with his hands, still too unsure to bring words to his feelings for Daryl.

“What, two people finding happiness in each other?” Hershel smiled, quirking an old eyebrow at Rick’s loss of words.

“Two _men_ finding… this.” 

Hershel chuckled, shaking his head, and responded, “That might have been true in a different time, but this world has no room for more hate or discrimination. I’d be happy to bless any love that can be found in these dark times.”

Rick shook his head, still shocked that this conversation had happened at all, much less with a religious old man who toted a bible with him everywhere. But honestly, Rick was eternally grateful to Hershel’s wisdom and contribution. It wasn't likely that Rick would have came to any of the same conclusions Hershel obscurely guided him towards, always a helping hand instead of a driving force to his wisdom. Rick couldn't imagine anyone else having the same insight as Hershel.

“In this world, we can no longer afford racism or sexism. When I was a different man, I never would have imagined allowing my eldest daughter to fight and kill same as the men, or date an Asian boy for that matter,” laughed Hershel, eyes squinting fondly. Rick managed a smile as well, having met this Hershel just a year earlier.

“But I realize now that it would be cruel of me to despise any kind of union that can be sown in this world of death and misery. Some would consider it cruel of you as well to deny such a union.” At this, Hershel turned to Rick and patted him on the knee, shifting his weight so that he could reach into his back pocket and drew out his weathered old bible. Handing it to Rick, Hershel smiled and reached for his crutches, saying, “If that ain’t enough for you, I’d suggest turning to Corinthian thirteen four. I think Paul might have some words for you.”

Without another word, Hershel clumsily rose to standing and propped himself up with his crutches before hobbling off towards the prison. It was too late before Rick remembered to thank him, lost in thought as he opened the bible to a page marked and highlighted as if it was often read.

Rick was not a religious man, and firmly believed that Christian conviction had no place in this world. But still, he trusted Hershel’s input in this and his eyes scanned the passage in question.

_Love is patient, love is kind..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know this chapter was kind of a slump, and I’m sorry about that. I just kind of figured everyone wanted a break from the tense life-or-death moments going on, and these little transitional periods help me get back involved with plot. Also, I think I’m total shit with characterization and need some major practice, so I would really appreciate you reviewing and letting me know what I need to work on or if I’m decent enough. Between Rick, Daryl, Glenn, and Hershel, I feel as if I’m all over the place and am crossing my fingers that it’s not how I come across. Next chapter will sashay back into Rick and Daryl, and I promise I’ll start to satisfy you readers soon enough :) Sorry if there are any strange formatting issues or grammatical instances, I wrote almost this entire thing on a dinky tablet. Happy New Year!


	14. Catharsis

.:Catharsis:.

Rick had always been a light sleeper with an incredibly irregular sleep schedule that changed daily based on how things went on the beat that day, what day of the week it was, and how amiable Lori was feeling that night. Overall, Rick had managed to adjust to functioning off of very little sleep, which seemed to be a requirement in the apocalypse. While everyone else’s mood plummeted or reflexes waned, Rick could manage the flood of adrenaline in fighting off walkers or running for his life on just a few hours of sleep.

Today, however, Rick found himself wishing that he had managed to gain more sleep between the tossing in his sheets and the buzzing in his mind. It was Thanksgiving morning after all, finally, and after an entire night of circular reasoning and confusing emotions, Rick realized it was rather selfish of him to be making decisions that affected Daryl, for Daryl, and without talking to him. Up to this point, he had simply been responding to his own hectic mind, the fleeting uncertainty that came with the gut wrenching butterflies of their magnetic proximity dictating his actions. It was frustrating and only causing problems between him and his best friend, and Rick was tired of being driven by anything other than his usual composed logic. 

It was time for some much needed damage control, thought Rick groggily as he threw the covers off and got ready.

His stomach was churning anxiously as he mounted the stairs towards Daryl's cell, two at a time and as quietly as he could manage in the early morning stillness. It was always hard to tell whether it was morning or otherwise within the grey confines of the prison, but Rick's internal clock never let him stray too far from the world outside and was confirmed by the stony silence surrounding him. Not even Judith seemed to be stirring this early. 

When he finally reached Daryl's cell, Rick sucked in a deep breath before he stepped closer to look inside. The bed was uncharacteristically made, Daryl's crossbow nowhere to be seen, and hauntingly empty of its owner. Rick released the breath he had been holding, leaning against the freezing iron bars and feeling waves of disappointment and relief rolling through him equally. Serious conversations about feelings were never something he really excelled at and even avoided to the best of his ability, but knew Daryl deserved better than mixed signals and radio silence from him. It took fourteen years worth of confrontations and apologies for him to finally understand that communication was a two-way street, and while it was unfortunately too little too late to have helped him with Lori, it might save him the pain of hurting Daryl. Rick mused, conflicted, though it did nothing to distract from the anxious clenching he felt in his gut as he pulled away from the bars and headed to the showers.

When he crossed into the tile threshold of their dingy showers, Rick stopped. He couldn't hear any showers going, but that didn't keep Rick from feeling tentative going forward if there was a chance Daryl was in there. 

~~~~~

_"The hell do you want!" He had shouted at him as he made a desperate grab for his crumpled clothes._

_Rick choked on his shameless surprise, grinning from ear to ear and not feeling the least bit embarrassed by Daryl's mad rush for modesty, stumbling backwards against the bathroom tile from the shock of it all. The bottle sloshed in his hands lethargically as he cracked up, his hoarse laughter echoing over the sound of the shower hitting the floor and saw that the rising steam was not enough to cover Daryl's growing flush. Face red and eyes glowering and obviously not the least bit buzzed anymore, Daryl hastily covered his lower body with his discarded clothes, doing his best to hide himself from Rick's half-lidded gaze._

_"Shit! Sorry, sorry," Rick covered his eyes, still grinning foolishly at the sight before him. "Thought you were Lori, man."_

_Daryl scoffed and Rick was genuinely surprised that he hadn't gotten punched yet, both grateful for Daryl's aversion to human contact and maybe a little challenged by it if he were being honest. It had been an honest mistake stumbling into the CDC showers and walking in on Daryl, naked and wet and just incredibly naked, but Rick couldn't find it in him to leave just yet. They had both been blindsided by the other's presence, stunned to inaction, but now it was just too funny to Rick's intoxicated mind to just turn around and leave. He had never seen this hard, adamantine man break before, and this uncompromising situation they happened upon was a thing of hilarious beauty in Rick's blurred eyes._

_"Do I look like a woman to you!" Daryl was practically shouting, hiding behind his measly clothes._

_Rick grinned at that sheepishly, peeking behind his fingers and eyes following Daryl's blushing body downwards. Big muscles, hard body, and... scars? "No you do not," Rick teased, watching Daryl squirm beneath his observation. Water dripped from Daryl hair, shorter and blonder, and down the crook of his neck and into the contours of his body. There was nothing feminine in the least about Daryl's body, nothing of Lori there, and hell if the alcohol wasn't playing tricks on Rick's suddenly hungry mind._

_"Ya gonna just stand there like a dumbass or will ya get the hell out?"_

_"What, you don't want company?" Rick slurred and took a swig of the thick liquor between his laughter, getting a real kick out of his own damn joke. Daryl,  
however, did not find it as funny as he did and threw some of the cheap CDC soap at Rick. Hard._

_"Git!" Daryl shouted as if Rick were some misbehaving dog begging for scraps._

_"I'm goin', I'm goin'!" laughed Rick, putting both the soap and the bottle on the ground for Daryl -- who clearly needed to lighten up more -- and got the hell out of dodge. It was a memory he let die as soon as he found the right shower stall, but the fact that following that run in was the best sex he had with Lori in years wasn't lost on him._

~~~~~

Rick leaned back against the hard wall of their empty bathing area, staring at himself in the grimy mirror and wondering how he managed to change so much without his noticing. It's not that Daryl had changed, not in Rick's strange infatuation with him anyway. No, Daryl always had a soft spot reserved in Rick's heart, from when he had first eyed him up and down as a newcomer to now, that was nothing new. When had Rick started searching for something else, something more, in Daryl? For so long, Rick thought everything would be okay -- he had found Lori and Carl, kept alive by his best friend Shane. With his son running into his arms and his beautiful wife crying tears of disbelief and his deputy looking on approvingly, it was the picture perfect reunion, only it wasn't, he now understood. 

Everything was as it should be, everything would be fixed, every gaping void in his bleeding heart would be filled, only it wasn't. 

The long mirror stretched across the back wall of the bathrooms and, despite the occasional ‘cleaning’, was still covered in a thin layer of muck. Rick stepped closer and used his sleeve to wipe away a window of grime and get a better look at himself, feeling torn by his own face staring back at him. Gaunt cheeks, a cut jawline, and haunted eyes were eyeing him from the mirror, picking apart every thin and grizzly feature. It wasn't a face Rick recognized anymore and felt hollow inside as he tried to adjust to it.

This was his face. It wasn't the most attractive he’d ever been in his life, all covered in hair and age, but it was his face now. A face that had seen the worst of grotesque sights, drank from the elixir of death and came back for more, cried more tears than he cared to admit.

It wasn't a face he would have ever wanted to see in a mirror, but it was a face Rick knew how to live with now.

Sighing, Rick stepped away and thought back to his and Daryl's first meeting, right after his heart wrenching family reunion that was so perfect and pristine in his own head. Dirty, dingy, Daryl, bursting from the wilds, snarling and swinging fists to hide his crying eyes and breaking heart at the loss of his brother. Rick had been expecting a mini-Merle, vile and spitting words of hate, not a human being that made Rick feel. It all had been in such sharp contrast to reuniting with his loved ones that he hadn't foreseen the whirlwind of emotions carrying him away with the younger man, away from the family he had just gotten back. Kissing Lori and Carl, at the time Rick thought nothing would ever drag him from them again. 

And yet, he didn't think twice about leaving the morning after with this broken man he had just met, had just dodged a knife from, and had just committed himself to. 

~~~~~

_"Rick'll show you the way to your brother. Ain't that right?" Lori had sneered at them, Daryl desperate to find his only lifeline and Rick desperate to  
put him back together, even if it meant leaving his family for the life of a ‘douchebag’. She gave him one last chance to stay, like she did when Rick got an emergency call from work, and turned her back when he promised Daryl he'd do right by him._

_"So that's it, then?" Shane spat as Rick readied to leave, hell being flung from all sides where he needed support the most. "Just gonna walk off, ta hell  
with everyone else?"_

_"What, you and Daryl?" Lori's tone was vindictive, and Rick had almost forgotten her usual passive aggressive demure in his mad rush to reunite with her. It brought reality crushing back around him, more forceful than any walker horde, and he had to nod when she quipped, "That's your... 'Big plan'?"_

~~~~~

Rick dragged his eyes from the mirror and continued on, looking for Daryl, needing to let loose this overwhelming torrent of drowning reflections. That was his ‘big plan’, and knew that was exactly when Lori, his normally patient and compassionate wife, and Shane, his trusty deputy and friend, sided against them in some seething jealousy. That was the beginning of it all, and as much as he couldn't see it then, there was no coming back from that decision. No backpedaling, no apologies, and no grey areas. It was either Lori or Daryl, Lori or his job, Lori or doing what’s right. The ultimatum to end all ultimatums, and as far as Lori and Shane were concerned, he chose wrong.

Footsteps echoing, Rick made his way to the dining area and felt the disappointment in his throat winning out over the relief at Daryl’s absence.

Not bothering to eat yet, Rick left the dining room and headed out, eyes squinting in the crisp air of early morning. He tugged his jacket closer to him and looked around, eyes locking on the guard tower when he saw that the yard was empty and quickly made his way to the tower. It wasn't unlike Daryl to hang out in the tower when he was overwhelmed or trying to think or just brooding, and Rick felt it was a safe bet that this is where his companion was hiding.

The dead grass crunched underfoot, frozen and whispering promises of snow, and Rick looked over to their garden. It looked lifeless and lacking, but Rick had tried to see it as budding and promising as he planted the seeds the night earlier before heading off to bed, drained physically and emotionally. They didn't manage to grow anything by today, but thanks to Daryl’s find, at least they would have some produce for their Thanksgiving feast that night. 

Despite their floundering and miscommunication as of late, Rick still wanted to make Daryl’s first Thanksgiving something special.

He kept his eyes from Lori’s grave at the top of the hill as he came to the tower, trying to keep the rushing guilt at bay. This would be his first Thanksgiving without her, and to even think of celebrating it made Rick feel woozy with condemnation, as if feeling any sort of happiness today was a besmirchment of their marriage. But both Carol and Hershel’s words rang in his ears and he clung to them as an amnesty from himself, swallowing his pain to mount the ladder and trying not to weigh himself down with the pressure of his own revolution.

Rick was trembling as he climbed, making the ascension harder and slow-going as he tried to plan out just what he was going to say to Daryl. 

_“I shouldn't have lost control, I’ll be better now.”_

_“I was a dumbass, I’m sorry, but you shouldn't have touched me like that.”_

_“I screwed up, but maybe we can try again, man. Maybe you can touch me all you want.”_

Pausing, Rick leaned his forehead against the cold bars of the ladder and shook his head. This wasn't much of an apology anymore as it was a good way to get himself lobbed from the guard tower, dropped like a bad habit. Dammit, he just wasn't any good with this. Rick could talk people down from suicide, talk a perp into lowering his weapon, talk a group of survivors into follow him through hell, but this? Talking out his feelings? He was better off winging it, Rick thought as he climbed the last two rungs, wishing himself luck as he opened the hatch and pulled himself through.

“Well, good morning,” Carol smiled at him, eyes sleepy and coat tucked and blanketed around her tiny frame. She sat in one of their fold out chairs, facing towards the woods, and had her rifle propped up against the window.

“G’morning,” stuttered Rick, feeling that same disappointment creeping in at Daryl’s continued absence. Carol seemed to notice.

“Expecting someone else?”

“Naw, just…” Rick trailed off as he hoisted himself from the hatch and closed it, knowing he couldn't just turn right back around yet. Besides, he had nowhere else to look for the other man, and if Daryl were to tell anyone that he was running off somewhere, it would be Carol. Rick couldn't stop the pang of envy he felt at that thought as he pulled open a chair to sit beside the older woman. “I can’t find Daryl, s’all.”

She laughed, her voice chiming like bells, and said, “What else is new? That man never sits still for long.”

“I noticed,” Rick chuckled, running a hand over his face and wincing at how dirty he felt. For sure, he was going to need to shower and clean himself up before dinner tonight, once Carl took one. The dead might be walking the earth, but it was still Thanksgiving for Christ’s sake, he thought to himself. Smiling, he realized Beth’s holiday cheer was infectious and starting to rub off on him. “You know where I can find ‘em?”

“Pffft. I’m flattered you think of me as his keeper,” she smiled, but shook her head. “But I haven’t seen him. Why, do you need him for something?”

Rick cringed at her word choice, but tried to ignore it. “No, I… It’s Thanksgivin’, didn't think he’d choose today of all days to run off somewhere.” At his words, Carol sat back and watched out the window with him, the world a light pink and blue from the bleeding sun and everything still and quiet in its wake.

It was strange to think of today as out of the ordinary, a day meant for anything other than fear and survival, but Rick couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. Having something to look forward to was refreshing, and despite Lori’s hovering guilt in his heart, Rick was really starting to feel the intoxicating effects of being happy again. But without Daryl here to experience this with, it felt muted and forced, smiling and laughing for Carl’s sake more than his own. Today was monumental in so many ways, with everyone honoring those both past and present, alive and dead, and was Judith’s first Thanksgiving along with Daryl’s. It crushed him to think that Daryl would willingly opt out.

Minutes passed in silence as the two watched the world awakening in front of them, insects buzzing, birds chirping, and walkers groaning. A few walkers had managed to get themselves caught in some of Daryl’s traps, flailing and rotting, and Rick watched them passively until Carol spoke.

“You seem really stressed out lately, Rick,” she said, breaking the silence with her tiny and hesitant voice.

He knew there was no way to lie to her or avoid this, so he just shrugged and said, “Reckon I am.” Rick kept his eyes to the window, feeling Carol’s gaze on him, and tried to play it off as if he wasn't drowning in problems at the moment, though he knew it wasn't likely to fool Carol. The gentle woman seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to others, but Rick kept up the facade of nonchalance for his own sake. At the very least, he could try and fool himself.

“Is that why you’re looking for Daryl?” questioned Carol innocently.

Rick’s head snapped up, eyes screwed firm and drawn and completely bewildered at her. He didn't answer, lips pulled thin, and just gave her a harsh and objecting look that questioned her random reasoning. Rick didn't know why, but her automatic assumption that his stress was related to Daryl put him on the defense, as accurate as her conclusion was. He hated to think that he was that obvious, that predictable, that everyone could see his unease at  
Daryl’s absence.

“Well, you seem to be happier when he’s around,” Carol shrugged, keeping her voice light and unobtrusive. “And on edge when he’s gone.”

“I’m on edge when anyone’s gone,” Rick said, quick to deflect.

“Hah, please, Rick,” she scoffed and nudged Rick playfully to shake him from his mood and he let her, knowing she meant no harm in her allegations. “You’re like a… caged bird when he’s not around.”

Caught off guard, Rick’s defensive posture fell at her bizarre comparison. “A caged bird?” 

He relaxed, chuckled even, and Carol laughed with him, the mood feeling lighter all around them suddenly. “You heard me. A caged bird. And you can go ask anyone, Rick, they all see it, too.”

“So,” Rick paused, grinning and gesticulating jocosely towards the prison to play along with the silly woman. “If I go down there and ask anyone, they’re liable to call me a, a ‘caged bird’?” He emphasized ‘caged bird’ to prove just how ridiculous the notion was. Carol was laughing again, eyes sparkling with mirth and face blushing at their conversation. In that moment, Rick was able to forget about the heavy burdens of his current life and gratefully indulged in the rare humor between him and Carol.

Carol shook her head, a grin dancing on her thin lips, and said, “Some might prefer ‘lost puppy’.”

“Y’all must be outta your damn minds,” he teased, unwinding for the first time this morning. It felt good to joke around again, this past week having been so stressful and hectic, and although Rick still couldn't relinquish the knot in his stomach, he could at least overlook it for the moment. The two fell into companionable silence, something meaningful having just passed between them, and Rick let himself enjoy it.

Somehow, a quiet understanding had just occurred beneath the playful banter amid him and Carol, an unspoken acknowledgement and acceptance of Rick’s more possessive attitude towards Daryl than towards anyone else. Supposedly, it was something the whole group had caught on to as well, and Rick felt his heart lunge thankfully that they hadn't excoriated or shunned him for it if Carol was telling the truth. It had apparently been evident from the start, his and Daryl’s bond, as it had alarmed Shane and Lori, whom had both been considerably less understanding than the rest of the group.

The two of them sat in silence for a long time, the sky eventually brightening with the sun while Rick and Carol enjoyed each other's company, until --

"Look!" 

Rick sat up straighter at Carol's sudden outburst, attention being drawn to the edge of the forest where the woman pointed towards some movement amongst the foliage. He squinted as she grabbed her rifle and left the room to peer down the scope at the rustling brush and Rick rose to his feet, hand on the butt of his Colt while he waited. Moments later, a figure emerged from the trees, broad, rushed, and clearly aware of the traps throughout the yard, and even from this high up, Rick knew immediately who it was and felt his heart rate rocket.

Carol pulled her face away from the rifle, eyebrows knitted, and said, "Is that..."

"Daryl!"

Not waiting for another word, Rick opened the hatch and practically leaped down it, wanting to meet the other man at the gate and fix this all before tonight. His static nerves at the impending confrontation between him and Daryl were completely overshadowed by his pure relief at Daryl's return, descending the ladder two prongs at a time. When he finally burst through the door of the guard tower and into the morning daylight, his sensitive eyes were met with Daryl's back against the gate, one hand holding a bird carcass of some sort and the other wielding his knife, while three walkers were closing in on him from the forest. 

"Shit," Rick breathed, breaking into a run towards the gate while drawing his pistol. 

Daryl lunged towards the closest body, digging his hunting knife straight between the walker's eyes as the other two made a grab at him. The hunter danced out of the way of the decrepit talons, seeming to put more effort in keeping the game in his hand unscathed than he did for himself, but in doing so lost his grip on his weapon. Rick heard the man curse appropriately at the situation before pressing his back to the chain link fence, unarmed, tensing his free hand into a fist and winding back.

"Get down!" called Rick, raising arm and cocking his gun. 

Daryl glanced over his shoulder, his eyes flicking to Rick's for a split second, and dropped down immediately. The two corpses were nearly upon his friend, throwing themselves at him hungrily before jerking back and falling at Daryl's feet limply with the resounding pop of two rapid gunshots. They twitched piteously when Daryl kicked them away, shoes scraping the dirt frantically as he pulled himself up the gate, and stepped over the carnage to retrieve his blade.

"Thanks," Daryl mumbled, keeping his eyes away from Rick as he approached the gate where Rick was unlacing the chain. Rick's fingers paused, trembling now in ways they never did when he raised a gun, as his eyes lifted slowly to meet Daryl's face. He was looking down at his shoes, one hand clenching the fence and the other still grasping the neck of what looked to Rick like a goose.

"Daryl..." 

Hesitantly, Daryl's cobalt eyes met Rick's and Rick felt his heart flutter. Was he really going to do this here, now? Rick steeled himself, taking a deep breath and trying to get his faltering words out from his suffocating throat, when Daryl spoke first and cut Rick off.

"Ya gonna let me in 'r what?" he said, voice gruff and breath buffeting Rick's face and it was just enough to jolt Rick's hands back into action.

Rick turned his attention back to the chain, muttering some vacant apology, and pulled the gate open for Daryl to slide through just as Carol caught up to them, rifle strapped to her thin shoulders. She smiled at Daryl and he nodded to her and there was a lump in Rick's throat as Daryl walked completely past him, feeling for all the life of him as nothing more than a third wheel at that moment. Daryl lifted up the limp goose for Carol to see and her face lit up at his catch.

"Ain't no tom 'r nothin', but," Daryl shrugged, keeping his back to Rick. "Here's yer damn Thanksgiving y'all want so bad."

Without another word, Daryl made off towards the prison despite Carol's warm gratitude, not even stopping when Rick called his name. Carol seemed to catch Rick's face falling slightly from the other man's behavior and squeezed his arm tenderly, trying to offer him some sort of comfort, but Rick gently shook off her hand.

"He'll come around, whatever it is," Carol assured, sounding far more confident than Rick felt as they watched Daryl disappear into the prison.

"How can you possibly know that?" sighed Rick.

Carol laughed, shouldering him as she turned back to the guard tower, and said, "Because that man won't listen to anyone else." Rick paused to consider that, remembered the man's loyalties and just who it was he was dealing with, and firmly swallowed his silly frettings with a smile.

"And Rick," Carol paused, looking over her bony shoulder at him, and grinned. "Try and cheer up. It's Thanksgiving."

He returned her smile and tried to take her advice by loosening his tense neck and shoulders before heading off to the prison, stopping short in his tracks to turn around and call out to her retreating form. "Happy Thanksgiving, Carol!" She turned back and waved before entering the tower. Taking a deep breath, Rick made sure his smile was still in place and entered the prison.

~~~~~

The festivity of the day was not lost on everyone else, his family already starting to careen around as the day stretched on. Eventually Carol came in and between her and Oscar, who showed a surprising finesse when it came to cooking, the smell of their Thanksgiving meal spurred on the holiday excitement. With Axel's help, the sweet potatoes were peeled and ready to bake, Beth managed to toss together a simple spinach salad with tomato and cucumber, and the gutted goose was basted and marinated as the pièce de résistance. It would take a few hours for it to be cooked through all the way considering how little gas the prison had in reserve, but nobody seemed to mind as they prepared the rest of the meal.

Maggie whipped up some of her "world famous canned green bean casserole", essentially just a warmed up, seasoned can of green beans with their improvised supplies, while Carol simmered the gravy and hummed happily. Carl was sent out of the cooking area, filled with adults, to plop next to Glenn at the circular table in the dining area just a few feet away and sighed, dropping his chin to his hand glumly.

"Kick you out, too?" Glenn nudged Carl, sounding just as dejected.

"Yeah. Said I was in the way," pouted the teen, flicking his hat out of his eyes so he could watch the grown-ups. "Even though Beth is still helping out."

Glenn shrugged. "She can cook."

"I can cook," Carl said, automatically jumping to defend his abilities despite never having cooked a day in his life. But he had seen his mom make pancakes enough times to know exactly how not to cook and was confident enough to try. His older friend muttered something about how he couldn't, but never needed anything outside of his work's pizza anyway.

Rick was stuck with dish duty, scrubbing their few plates and utensils in the sink for later that night, and stopped elbow deep in the sudsy water when he overheard his son and Glenn talking. He pulled away and dried his hands on his jeans, figuring he'd let the pots and cans soak for a bit while he taught his son a thing or two about the kitchen.

"Hey, Dad," nodded Carl, still sulking with Glenn.

"Hey," Rick smiled at them and tapped his old sheriff's hat down on Carl's head, eliciting a scowl from him as he straightened it back into position. "Did I hear you two sayin' yer not allowed to cook?"

Carl frown and nodded, and Glenn stretched back with a sigh and said, "It's prolly for the best, Rick. I'm not seeing any mozzarella for pizza or bread sticks."

"Shoot, ya don't need any of that fer what I got in store," he waved away, grinning at them both and gesturing over to a spot by the stove that had opened up minutes ago. Perfect. Glenn and Carl looked at each other before getting to their feet, pouts gone and replaced by smiles, and Rick quickly nabbed the available burner, along with a pot, some sugar, and a very large portion of their cranberries.

Not long after, the three of them had the early stages of a very sweet, yet very tart cranberry sauce. Rick threw in some cinnamon and nutmeg before he stepped back and patted his cooking companions on the shoulders, both of them looking quite pleased with themselves, and told them to let it simmer for a bit. 

As the food cooked, Rick played with Judith at the table while pleasant conversation filled the air around them. He could vaguely make out some of the chatter, Maggie clearly exaggerating about killing their own livestock for the holidays back on the farm and Glenn freaking out, Axel and Oscar comparing the prison Thanksgiving dinners to their future meal, and --

Rick's ears seemed drawn to Hershel and Carol, tuning in to them reminiscing about their past holidays with their passed spouses, and his eyes automatically flickered to Carl. Apparently, he wasn't the only one eavesdropping and saw Carl's face darken when their conversation turned to how cathartic today was, how necessary it was in moving on. Rick sighed as he watched his son leave, storm out of the room wordlessly, and bundled his baby girl up in her blankets before tucking her into his arms to follow Carl.

By the time Rick searched the showers and Carl's room, Judith was getting fussy. He tried to console her, bouncing her and teasing her little hands and wondering just how in the hell Daryl managed to always soothe her, before he had to take her outside to cry. Closing the door behind him, Rick held her close to buffet the cold air from her and as he tried to sway Judith back to peace, his eyes absentmindedly found Lori's grave up the hill.

Carl. 

His son was standing over his mother's grave, shoulders hunched from either the cold or something else, and Rick could've kicked himself -- of course his brooding teenage son would be out here. Rick nearly turned back inside, wanting to give Carl the space he needed to grieve, but something in him decided against it and he and Judith made their way up the hill. 

The dead grass crunching beneath them gave away Rick's approach, but Carl seemed to ignore him until his dad was next to him, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. Carl looked up at that, the brim of his hat tilting back until tears were clearly visible on his freckled face. 

"Hey, buddy," Rick started, not really having any idea where to go beyond that as now both of his kids were crying when he could barely juggle just one. A looming silence stretched on between father and son, only the sounds of Carl's choked down sniffling and Judith's persistent mewling filling Rick's ringing ears.

"You gotta burp her."

Rick's brows knit together, not expecting that from his obviously pained son, and it took a second to register. "What?"

"Judith," Carl sighed, his usual veneer of teenage disdain muted beneath his tears and sniffling nose. "When she cries like that, it's 'cause she needs to be burped." Willing to try anything to pacify his baby daughter, Rick propped Judith onto his shoulder and did as Carl suggested, grinning lightly when she let out a tiny belch and slowly ceased her crying. Before he could even ask where Carl learned that from, his son smirked at him dully and said, "Daryl taught me."

He could barely contain the snort that formed at the irony of that, of how Daryl seemed to have some natural knack to affect the Grimes family without fail. "Course he did," Rick chuckled, rubbing Judith's back with soothing fingers. "Now you gonna talk to me or what?"

Shrugging at the grave impassively, Carl's voice was hollow when he eventually said, "She's gone. There's nothing to talk about."

"Carl," Rick moved his hand to his son's back, squeezing the nape of his neck gently like he used to do when life was as simple as bad grades and stupid girls. It had been a long time, a whole other lifetime it felt like, since Rick had reached out to Carl like this and he took a deep breath, trying to voice Hershel's words the best he could. "Your mother... She's gone. But us, we're still here. We have a chance to survive, to grow. We can be happy, Carl."

Carl rubbed at his nose with his sleeve angrily, face tightening as he shouldered off his father's hand and flinched away from him. Rick's heart sunk at his  
reaction and he bit his cheek sheepishly. He knew this conversation with Carl had been a long time coming and had dreaded every second in its wake, even going to far as to side stepping this moment when the words were particular bulky in his throat. But after everybody's kind, consoling speeches, their tender counselings and words of much needed wisdom, Rick thought he had it down and knew that Carl needed to hear it, too. But so far, like so many other conversations in Rick's life, this was backfiring and blowing up in his face and he knew he needed to salvage it for Carl's sake.

"So, what?" he spat vehemently, eyes narrowed into an angry squint as he sized up against his dad in a way only his teenage son could do. "We just, just forget about her? Act like she was never even here?"

"That's not what I'm saying -- "

"Maybe you can go and pretend mom never existed," Carl interrupted. "But I can't do that to her. Someone has to remember mom, and it sure isn't you."

"Hey," barked Rick, his haunches rising defensively as he stroked Judith's back. He could feel all of his hard work from the past few days crumbling beneath him at Carl's flaring anger and desperately grabbed at whatever pieces he could salvage, trying to painfully put them back together. All he could mesh together was some bastard amalgamation of Hershel's wisdom and Carol's strength and worked to meld it to something Carl  
could understand, some white flag he could wave and seek  
shelter under. "I loved your mother."

"Like hell you did!" Carl snarled and Rick winced at his language, clearly something else he was picking up from Daryl, and tried to console the endlessly empathetic baby in his arms fussing at their conflict.

"You watch yer mouth," said Rick, lowering his voice to keep from upsetting Judith much more. His son didn't seem to pay his sister any mind.

Carl's face was flushed with a violent red, smearing his cheeks and veiling his freckles in his indignation when Rick spoke. "Oh, _now_ you're going to be all fatherly?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and Rick found those precious pieces of his demeanor that he grasped onto like a lifeline we're jagged and cutting, but he clung to them still. 

Rick took a deep breath, keeping his voice low as he reached out to Carl once more. "Carl, we can talk about this."

But he wasn't having any of that and stepped out of Rick's reach, glaring as he shouted, "No! We can't!" Carl reached up to his head and grabbed his hat with shaking hands to throw it at Rick's feet, not seeming to care one bit about the hurt searing through Rick head to toe, burning him to a crisp. He pressed Judith closer to him, both to soothe her and himself, watching as Carl grew more agitated and riled, not even noticing his  
leaking eyes and nose anymore.

"There's nothing to talk about! Mom's dead! She's gone," his voice was rising to a breathless crescendo that rang in Rick's ears worse than any gunshot. "It's over." Rick took a deep breath, wanted to mediate, to de-escalate, but stumbled over Hershel's words. 

"It ain't over. We're still here."

"You weren't back then! Not when we needed you!" Rick flinched at that, feeling his heart clench tightly beneath Judith's squirming weight, and the fire in Carl's eyes did nothing to abate the ice in Rick's bones. "You were never there! Mom needed you, and you. Weren't. _There_!"

Carl yelled himself breathless, emphasizing each word painfully, and Rick hoped for a moment that the torrent was gone. This wasn't a conversation he ever, ever wanted to have, but realized just how much of it had been bubbling beneath Carl's skin for months and knew these were things his son needed to say. Realizing that, Rick quelled his first instinct to shut his son down and walk away, avoid this emotional conflict altogether, and instead steeled himself for the worst and remained patiently quiet. These were words he'd have to carry and bear, for Carl's sake.

Eyes wide and shiny, Carl shook slightly, his mouth parted and cheeks flushed from his outburst. His breaths came in short pants from the adrenaline of yelling as he waited, shifting from foot to foot for his dad to scold him, turn from him, anything, but when Rick kept his mouth shut, Carl seemed to regain his voice and ventured, "I needed you. But you weren't even there when Mom..."

Words halting, voice hesitant, he trailed off, "When I..."

Coming up short, Carl brought a hand up to his face, pressing it to his mouth as if to keep the flood of words in now. His eyes scrunched together as they began to water again, covering his face in a fresh stream of overwhelming grief, and he sank to his knees as he said, "I killed her, Dad."

The deafening ringing of Carl's admission sank to Rick's hollow heart, echoing around in his veins as both of his children wailed. He should have stopped this.

"It wasn't a walker, and it wasn't starvation, it was -- it was me," Carl choked out, all faces of anger drained from his body as his shoulders shook from the sheer force of his guilt. "I pushed her away, Dad, I -- I made her think I hated her. And then I..." He shook his head shamefully, unable to finish, and clenched at the dead grass to anchor himself as the pain washed over him.

"Carl..." Rick breathed, feeling air in his suffocating lungs for the first time in he didn't how long. He stepped over the discarded sheriff hat and crouched down, using his free arm to pull him in and hug him, shushing his whimpering cries. Before Rick could think of what to say, frozen solid in the reminder of that world-ending day and the dead, distant look in his son's face, Carl spoke first, into Rick's jacket and through a layer of his own tears and snot.

"Do you hate me, Dad?" he whispered, trembling all over.

Rick could barely feel his face crumpling, barely feel his own shaking shoulders, over the breaking of his heart. It was too much to bear and he sobbed, pressing his face to Carl's greasy hair and crying with his children at Carl's words. It had been an impossibly heavy load to shoulder recounting his own misgivings as a father and as a husband, but his sense of duty forced him to manage it. Hearing that his own son thought he hated him was too much, though, and he clung to his children helplessly.

Carl's hair in his face, tears in his beard, Rick shook his head over and over, repeating, "No, Carl, no, I would never, could never," like a mantra. 

The three Grimes sat there in each other's embrace, shaking and crying and feeling, until eventually the world changed around them, their grief shifting beneath them like tectonic plates in a continental drift of emotion being drained from them. Soon, they were an island of relief in a vast ocean of emptiness that one only feels after crying their heart out, and Carl tentatively looked up. Rick watched him and smiled lightly, reaching up to wipe at Carl's wet face and said, "I could never hate you, son.

"And I don't blame you fer what happened to yer mother," he continued, watching Carl's face crumble. He squeezed the back of Carl's neck, pulling him in to kiss his forehead reassuringly. "No one coulda predicted things would turn out this way. But the only thing we can do is deal with it."

His son nodded his head and averted his eyes. "M' sorry... For what I said."

"Hey," Rick smiled gently, tears drying on his face from the sun. "Ya ain't gonna be alone anymore. You got me, and Daryl, and Beth, all of 'em. And even..." trailing off, Rick adjusted his arm until Judith was facing them and her puffy face lit up when Carl smiled at her. 

"Judy," Carl cooed at her through his sniffling, which made her gummy grin widen at the attention.

Rick smiled at his children, taking a second to look over at Lori's grave. Carl followed his eyes and sobered when he was met with the wooden cross dangling together atop the empty mound of dirty. Smile fading, Rick took a moment to think and piece his words together more carefully this time.

"Yer mom, she was a wonderful person, Carl. We didn't get along sometimes, but I loved that woman with all my heart once," he spoke slowly. "I'll never forget her, but she wanted me to give you and Judy the best lives possible after she passed. And sooner 'r later, that's gonna mean more than just moping around and wishing things were different. That's gonna mean actually finding happiness again."

Carl's smile was distant and lost in thought as he played with his sister's tiny hands, eliciting happy giggles from the toddler. Rick was nearly jealous of the simple, frivolous mindset of his daughter. Reaching behind him, Rick pulled his old hat off the ground and beat the dust from it on his thigh before plopping it on Carl's head, forcing Carl to look back at him with a small smile. It brought life back to Rick's heart seeing him smile again and he reached out to muse up the hat, grinning when Carl swatted his hand playfully.

"You deserve to be happy, Carl."

He stopped in the midst of fixing his hat and looked up at Rick, eyes shining before softly responding, "You, too, Dad."

They stayed for a tender moment until Judith began to squirm in Rick's arms, whining for something other than the cramped position of their embrace, and Rick suggested that they go inside to see how the food was coming. As they walked inside, an arm around each of his children, Rick smiled and felt that same blossom on hope in his soul growing at his progress. 

Talking to Daryl would hopefully be a breeze in comparison to Carl. Rick crossed his fingers for good measure.

~~~~~

“There y’all are!” Maggie greeted them all with a smile as they entered the dining area, pleasant noise and smells wafting from the room. Rick gave the woman an apologetic smile, but she waved them off. “We’ve been lookin’ for you guys, we have a surprise for you!”

Carl’s face brightened at her words, always one for surprises, whereas Rick was quite the opposite. Both his time on the force and walking unsuspectingly face first into fights with Lori left Rick wary of surprises, but smiled at Maggie anyway and patted Carl on the back. “You go on. I got something I need to take care of, first.” His son happily went and sat next to Beth at the table where they had various grocery bags.

Before she left to join the rest, Rick stopped Maggie and ask, “Have you seen Daryl? I need to talk to him.”

Maggie’s brows knit together at his inquiry with questions of own, but shook her head and said, “ We ain’t seen him all day, we kind of figured he was with you.”

Oscar spoke up, apparently having overheard them, and turned from the stovetop to face them. “Homes’ up in his room. I tried getting him to come down a while ago, but hell if he’ll listen to me.”

“Thanks, man,” Rick nodded at him.

He was turning to leave, a bubbly baby grabbing at his beard, when Maggie asked, “You want me to take her?”

Looking at Judith, Rick paused -- he had intended to take her with him, at the very least to have someone happy to see him if things went south with Daryl, but decided against it. He nodded and tenderly handed Judith over to Maggie’s open hands, thanking her and telling her that he’d be right back and not to wait for him. She complied and offered him a small, encouraging smile before returning to the group, leaving Rick to venture the halls of the prison with his destination pounding wildly in his heart. Daryl. He didn't even know what he’d say to the other man, never really having the time to plan anything, and just tried to quell the churning in his stomach. He’d just have to wing it. 

Finally reaching Daryl’s cell, Rick paused before entering the archway and braced himself, knocking lightly on the bars.

“Toldja ta piss off, Oscar,” came the gruff voice, already agitated and unleashing a throng butterflies in Rick’s stomach, swarming and propelling him into view. Daryl was sitting on his bedside table, hunched over something in his hands and in the dim, flickering candle light, Rick could see the glint of his knife. He didn't look up, too absorbed in his hands, so Rick cleared his throat.

“What’s yer problem?” Daryl jerked his head up, eyes widening and hands faltering when he saw it was Rick.

Rick was leaning his uninjured shoulder against the doorway, smiling softly at the other man’s expression. “Took the words right outta my mouth,” he said playfully, watching Daryl’s eyes narrow into his usual sharp points and jabbed the knife into the wood he was whittling, putting it to the side with a huff.

“Whaddya want, Rick?” he asked in a resigned voice, not seeming to know what to do with his hands anymore.

Sighing, Rick stuck his own idle hands in his pockets and stepped inside, trying not to mind how tense that made Daryl. He thought for a minute, the silence palpable between them, before shrugging and eyeing Daryl helplessly. “Hard to say anymore. But I do know that I want you down there.”

Daryl snorted and looked away, clearly on edge. “Who says I wanna be down there?”

“You -- a few days ago, anyway,” he pointed out, hoping to ease the combative facade Daryl was wearing that Rick could very clearly see through. Daryl was wringing his hands, deliberately looking away from Rick. “What changed yer mind?” He spoke softly, knowing this was dangerous territory to be venturing into, and expected some kind of vehement backlash from the other man.

“What changed yours?” Daryl echoed, treading equally slow, gingerly approaching his question. It took Rick by surprise and he swallowed thickly, butterflies fluttering and hands clenching in his pockets.

“Nothing.”

Daryl’s eyes found his, mystified and filled with something Rick was scared to acknowledge, feeling that same halting jittery nervousness eating at his confidence as Daryl slowly rose to his feet, straightening until he met Rick’s height with his own. Rick held his ground, knowing that doing anything but would ruin things and hurt the other man all over again, but not knowing what to expect made his heart race.

“What’re you sayin’?” 

Rick’s breath hitched as Daryl came close, and struggled to get the words out. “Come with me. I want you there.” The other man looked hesitant, eyes flicking towards the dining room where exuberant noise echoed from, and back to Rick, torn. So Rick continued. “We’re all family now, one way or another -- including you. It’s only right that…” Rick trailed off, taking a breath before trying again. “I want us…” Faltering, embarrassed, Rick just reached out and grabbed Daryl’s forearm, feeling the tight muscles stiffen beneath his touch. 

_It’s only right that you’re with me._

He knew better than to push Daryl like this, but words were failing him, and he didn’t know how else to get his companion down there. “I’m gonna do right by you, Daryl,” Rick promised, eyes firm and words thick with belief. Daryl looked wary, but his lips quirked gently into a small smile. 

_I want us to be down there, together._

“So just… Come on.” 

Rick pulled at Daryl’s arm and was surprised when it gave, Daryl allowing Rick to lead him without any resistance. His skin was warm to the touch, yet it sent chills down Rick’s spine and he suppressed a shiver. They eventually reached the dining room, lively and festive, but their eyes never left each others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone could kindly point me back in the direction of my own plot, my word count would very much appreciate it. None of these conversations were meant to happen, let's hope they were worth it, eh? I'm so sorry about my tanget mind, life has been overwhelming and this is what came out. This was all done on a tablet again, so my lovely beta redneckwoman worked her ass off, but all mistakes are my own after everything.


	15. Psalm

.:Psalm:.

"Surprise!"

Rick's eyes widened upon finally leaving Daryl's, summoned by Beth's ecstatic voice, and was greeted with an impressive sight. There were extra tables from the rec room all pushed together and adorned with a simple white tablecloth draped awkwardly across them. Atop the cheap tablecloth were various crafts, feathers, and opened cans of paint with some paint brushes already smeared with colors next to them. Hershel was holding Judith while the Greene daughters were covered in paint and at the table, Axel was holding up a poorly cut construction paper turkey to show Carol, who was laughing at the dangling feathers glued to it. 

Beth and Carl were sitting together, tracing their hands on more construction paper while Glenn and Maggie hung up the decorated paper turkeys all around the room. Oscar was tending to something in the kitchen, humming, and Rick turned to Daryl, who was soaking it all in with wide eyes. He squeezed his arm and drew him down the steps, smiling at his family when they all greeted him.

"When I said 'start without me', didn't think I'd be walking into a war zone," Rick chuckled and caught his son waving him over, tugging Daryl along with him. 

The walls around them were covered in a busy collage of handprints and paintings, all shades of color smearing a liveliness to the usually shabby stone of the prison in the form of flowers and stick figures. There was very little rhyme or reason to most of the artwork splayed before his eyes, but it brought a wide smile to his face anyway as Rick’s eyes absorbed the various handiwork.

“We wanted to leave our mark on the prison,” spoke Beth softly. She was watching Rick’s examination of their craftsmanship, crayons stilled in her hands expectantly, and smiled at him. He let his eyes drift around the room and noticed Daryl doing the same. Beth shrugged her thin shoulder nonchalantly, as if she hadn't just improved the quality of each one of their lives with a simple, maudlin gesture, and returned to her coloring contently. “‘Sides, this is our home now. Figured it could use some color to it.”

“Sight fer sore eyes,” Rick agreed and glanced at Daryl, who was seemingly in awe of the sentiment of their peers.

"And you nearly called the whole thing off," pipped Maggie playfully, drawing their attention to see her hands covered in pink paint and threading paper decorations along the wall. He couldn't help but notice that her boyfriend had a very pink handprint on the backside of his jeans, to match the very pink tinge to his ears, but Rick bit his tongue to keep the jests at bay. Daryl, however, did not.

"Think pink's yer color, Glenn," Daryl jabbed with a smirk.

Glenn's ears turned a shade darker, but he kept face to his work and said proudly, "I find it very flattering."

There was laughter in the air while Hershel shook his head bemusedly at the young couple, everyone blissfully engaged in the spirit of Thanksgiving and smiles seemingly easier to come by today. The room smelled vaguely of the non-toxic paint but was overwhelmed by the hearty aroma of the simmering goose, making Rick's mouth water in anticipation. Carl was cutting out the outline of his turkey with a small pocket knife and Rick couldn't help but smile fondly at him, remembering when his son was far too cool for hand turkeys and construction paper.

"I see you finally decided to show up," Carol smiled at Daryl, looking up from Axel's poorly drawn stick-pilgrim, and scooted over to make room for the other man. 

Daryl lingered by Rick, looking rather out of place among the festivities, and rubbed at his neck awkwardly before shrugging off her offer. "Can't say I really know what ta do in all this," he trailed off quietly, eyes flickering to Rick's with a glint of embarrassment. Rick extended an encouraging smile to him and gestured to a paint brush covered in cornflower blue. 

“Reckon it’s time to learn, then,” said Rick as he grabbed for the brush and then held out his open hand for Daryl’s hesitant one. The younger man looked from Rick to his divulged hand, naked and impossible to ignore, and clenched his own hand apprehensively. Rick could feel Carol’s eyes on them, narrow and observant, but ignored them when Daryl finally slid his shaking hand into Rick’s. His heart lunged pleasantly, beating double time at the feel of Daryl’s hand heavy in his own and didn't realize until Daryl’s compliance how nervous he had been of rejection. But it didn't matter now, a small smile playing on his lips, as he turned over Daryl’s hand palm up and brought the paintbrush to it.

Jerking his hand away as if he’d been shocked, Daryl’s brows were knitted as he held his painted hand to his chest with his clean one defensively. “The hell ya thinking?” Daryl bit.

Rick put the paintbrush down and held up his hands placatingly, trying not to let the hurt he felt at Daryl’s reaction pigment his voice when he answered. “Leavin’ our mark,” he quoted Beth’s earlier words, trying to stay neutral. “It’s our home now, ‘n we both have a place on that wall.”

“Yeah!” Beth sang happily from the table. “We all left a spot over there for you two, next to Carl’s. See his in green?”

Daryl still seemed uncertain, so Rick grabbed the brush again and held it out to the hunter this time with a tiny, hopeful smile. “You can do me, first, if ya want.” Something beholden fleeted across Daryl’s features before he gave a slight nod and took the tool from Rick, grabbing his left hand with his right and holding it coarsely until Rick’s wide palm was facing them.

The paint was cold and slick, and the rough bristles of the brush nearly tickled Rick pleasantly. He tried not to move as Daryl completely focused on Rick’s hand and covered every inch of the surface with the cornflower paint, chewing on his bottom lip and narrowing his eyes. His long brown hair dangled between them and caught Rick’s attention, drawing his gaze to Daryl’s face and hitching his breath when he noticed that the other man’s irises were strikingly similar to the color coating his left hand. Rick looked away quickly and felt an embarrassment churning in him at his color choice and desperately hoped no one else noticed.

“Lookin’ good,” Daryl muttered as he finished his work, Rick’s palm and fingers now a light blue. He tried not to wiggle them as Daryl let go, looking towards the other used paintbrushes and reaching for the nearest one with his freehand.

“My turn?” asked Rick with a smile and held up a coppery orange. Daryl held his hand out and winced at the feel of the paintbrush on his skin, shivering slightly. Rick tried not to draw the process out, already feeling lightheaded from both the paint and the contact with Daryl, and quickly threw the brush down with a clatter not even minutes later. It might not have been as meticulous as Daryl’s handiwork, but Rick could sense Carol glancing up at them every so often and started to squirm beneath her attention. “Done.”

With painted hands, Rick and Daryl smiled tentatively at each other and walked to the nearest wall where Carl’s green handprint stood out amongst the others, small but powerful. Rick couldn't help but grin as he and Daryl simultaneously pressed their hands to the cold stone, blue left and orange right, just above Carl’s. They held their positions for just a moment, hands pushing the paint into the wall and opposite arms gently touching, and when they pulled away, their handprints shone bright and wet. Daryl’s print was slightly larger than Rick’s, only noticeable because of their proximity, but other than that were nearly indistinguishable. The silence between them was comfortable as they appreciatively stared at each other’s mark on the wall, and both men were startled when someone approached them from behind. 

Carol was smiling at them and holding Judith out towards them, and Rick took her happily. “Figured we’d wait on Judy ‘til you could do it, Rick.”

Rick gave her his thanks and grabbed a purple paintbrush from the table, a soft lilac color that he thought she would love to see when she was a little older. When he returned to the painted wall, he turned to Daryl and offered the brush to him. “Care to do the honors?”

Daryl looked taken aback by Rick’s approach, shrinking slightly from the sentiment while he considered, and eventually took the paintbrush without looking at Rick. “C’mere, Asskicker,” he cooed in a voice only meant for Judith, and grappled the giggling girl for her tiny hands. She shrieked with delight as Daryl nipped at her fingers and Rick had to secure his hold on her wiggling form, laughing with his daughter and everyone else at the sight. Daryl was always incredibly reserved and shy when trying to express himself, but he never held back when it came to Judith and it took some getting used to for everyone to see this solid, emotionless man play around with a toddler. For a long time, Daryl tried to keep this playful, paternal side of his from the rest of the group, but eventually it became something endearing and quite frankly, Daryl just didn't seem to give a damn what everyone else thought when Judith was involved.

“Hold still, baby girl,” Daryl soothed as he ran the bristles over her tiny hand, covering the square area with two, short brush strokes. The excited trill that came from Judith brought forth a chuckle from the two men, her stubby, dainty fingers grabbing at the hairs of the brush while her other hand was flailing animatedly. Daryl tickled her palm with the brush for another moment before she made a grab at his hair, smearing his dangling bangs with liquid lavender.

“Judith!” scolded Rick, unable to keep the amusement from his voice as he watched Daryl set the tool down and try to flick the wet dreg from his hair. Rick found himself wanting to help, to wipe the color from Daryl’s hair, but busied his hands with keeping Judith’s paint hand out of her mouth.

“Already fightin’ dirty,” Daryl mused and left the paint alone, having only made it messier trying by fumbling with it, while Judith stretched her thrashing arms out for Daryl’s attention. “Gonna be a scrapper one day, ain’tcha?” He smiled at her, a rare and genuine smile, and took her little wrists in his large hands, gently guiding both her and Rick closer to the wall until eventually he held her hand spread to the stone, just next to Carl’s green. His hold was both steady and fragile, as if Rick’s daughter were made out of precious glass, and Rick felt his heartstrings tug warmly in his chest as he watched the two.

When they pulled back, there was a flawless, tiny lilac shape completing the family, so petite and dainty compared to even Carl’s handprint. 

“It’s perfect,” Carl’s voice rang, and Rick couldn't help but agree as he watched Daryl admire their work, an inconspicuous raise to the corner of his lips that only deepened when Rick caught his eye. 

Together, they completed the family of hands colorfully decorating the wall, all different in shapes and sizes -- hands that had done unspeakable things, crimes fitted only to this world they lived in, and hands that had held each other, lovingly in the best of times and consolingly in the worst. Rick never considered himself a sentimental or emotional man, but in this moment he felt nothing less than wave after rolling wave of attachment and love for these people around him, his family. Just a few weeks ago, the last thing he imagined himself being today was thankful, yet here he stood now in awe of the happiness he felt.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a busy jive of paint with the constant looks thrown at the wall, traded with Daryl, or playing with his children. Rick finally allowed his heart to feel lighter than it had in ages as he swung Carl around or bounced Judith on his hip, laughing and joking with the rest of them. 

Beth finished her drawing of everybody, the blocky wax details striking considering the medium she used, and hung it up on the wall with the help of her older sister. “Happy Thanksgiving” was written in construction paper sky above their colorful crayon caricatures, and the Greene sisters marveled at it. Carol went to take over for Oscar in the kitchen so he could partake in the festivities as well and Axel decorated his artwork with more feathers.

“Nice hair, Daryl,” came Carl’s voice, cocky and teasing. “Purple looks really good on you.”

Rick turned around to chastise his son, wanting him to apologize for disrespecting an adult as the teen so often did, but stopped in time to see Daryl swipe a lazy finger across Carl’s nose, sneering down at him. 

“Not as good as orange looks on you, brat,” Daryl played back, shit-eating grin splitting his face at the bronze paint on Carl’s freckled skin. Rick deflated, losing his reprimand on the tip of his tongue as he watched Daryl stooped to his son’s level. To a teenager’s level. To _Carl’s_ level. Exhaling, Rick shook his head and realized that he should’ve known better than to think Daryl was above a finger paint fight with his son. When Rick had first found the group, he noticed that Carl had a strange fascination with the hunter that was deep-seated in the dynamic of a little boy looking up to the big, tough badass of the gang. All of his cigarette-smoking and leather jacket-wearing ideals and aspirations personified, materialized in front of his very eyes whenever his mother wasn't covering them to hide them from a dirty, ratty derelict. 

But to Carl, Daryl had been so much more than just some thug, just some mean Merle in-progress. Like his mother, he saw the foul-mouthed sneer and the deafening bike, but like his father, he saw a tough man with a jagged past who could handle anything. It was everything he wanted to be, and after he felt abandoned by Shane, Lori, Rick, it was the only thing he had left.

“You did not just do that,” said his son at the smear on his face. 

Daryl’s snicker was brutal as he crossed his arms and peered down at the kid, glancing up to Rick for a split second as if to make sure he hadn't crossed any lines and said, “N’ what if I did?”

Carl also turned to Rick, looking up at him with twinkling eyes as if to ask permission to sass Daryl right on back. Rick bit his lip, knowing how much hell this would have raised once upon a time, but eventually smiled and nodded back after taking in the shade of orange wiped across his son’s nose.

“S’pose he’d just have ta show you who’s boss, then,” Rick smirked, watching Carl’s face mirror his self-satisfied expression as he dipped his fingers in one of the open paint cans.

“That right?” said Daryl as he made a grab for one of the paintbrushes and brandished it like a knife, egging Carl on. Rick chuckled as the two wrestled and flung tinted warheads at each other, shading the world around them in laughter and dye until eventually Beth and Oscar were ensnared in the commotion by wayward paint bombs. 

Hershel ensuingly pulled out an old harmonica, a gift from Maggie some time ago, and it’s acoustic whine filled the air in energetic, staccato notes with every draw on the reed. The refrain had an upbeat and ragtime feel to it, the syncopation giving the atmosphere a lively ambiance as Maggie pulled Glenn into a spin and started to square dance with him, reeling from their do-si-do in his incoordination. Axel grabbed a reluctant Carol into his arms to mimic the younger couple and eventually had her crowing humorously with his apparent two left feet. 

His family was dancing and cavorting in a world of color and laughter, and it felt so unreal to Rick as he swung Judith around playfully, happily. Her lilac paint had been grabbed into his shirt and twisted into his beard from her restless hands, but Rick didn't mind one bit.

It was some time later that Hershel’s pealing notes slowed to a somber drag, his melodious tones elongated and touched with lament as their atmosphere abated to a dolent air. Glenn and Maggie were slow dancing now as Beth settled in next to a very tense Carl, both of them covered in spatters of multicolored paint while Oscar convinced a rejected Axel to style his moustache with pink for Carol. 

Rick felt warm in the Thanksgiving cheer, the smells of roasting potatoes and sizzling poultry still wafting in the air, and looked around for a certain companion missing from the group. If Daryl had gone off to his room for whatever reason, Rick swore he would handcuff the moody man to him, but he settled down when he finally spotted the hunter off in the corner, facing away from the rest of them. It looked like he was working on something by the way he was hunched over, hands grazing the wall in quick strokes, and Rick barely resisted joining him. It was pretty obvious to Rick when Daryl needed some space, and so he waited patiently until Daryl finally stepped back and stretched, keeping his eyes away from Rick as he moved to the kitchenette. 

It was tempting to go and see whatever Daryl had been working on, surrounded by other paintings and additions to the wall, but Rick didn't have time to get a closer look before Carol spoke up.

“E-Excuse me,” she whimpered, mousey voice struggling to find sway over the crowd. Hershel put down the harmonica to let Carol speak, and that seemed to encourage her further as she continued, “I thought... “ she cleared her voice, looking between each one of them. “I thought it might be a good idea to… well, reserve a spot on a wall to honor those not with us anymore.”

Carol’s eyes landed on Rick and he felt queasy under the crushing weight of reality in her stare. They had all played around and goofed off and it was just enough to help Rick ease his sorry soul for just a few hours, and the return to shame, as waning as it was, made his stomach knot painfully again.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Maggie asserted and her smile at her sister was bittersweet as she sauntered to the paint.

Beth barely managed a smile back as she joined Maggie next to Carol, the two sisters helping Hershel to his crutches until the rest of the group trickled forth, each with their own color of paint. Rick lingered back, bouncing his babbling daughter and trying not to think that he was using that as an excuse to keep his distance. Minutes later, he didn't even have that option as Carol came forth and gestured for Judith.

“I got her,” nodded Rick, smiling hollowly. 

The gray woman smiled knowingly at him and shook her head, gesturing again for Judith. “It might help, Rick. Wouldn't hurt to give it a try, at least.”

He sighed and nodded at her, kissing Judith’s soft forehead before joining the mass before him that began to disperse, parting for him one by one until he was staring at the prison wall covered with names. _Jim, Jacqui, T-Dog, Ed_ , the list was far larger than Rick could have ever imagined before he lived through the apocalypse, but anymore and it was just second nature to become numb to all this, detached as if this were little more than a shopping list. _Amy, Dale, Jimmy, Otis_. His eyes grazed each name and paid his due respect, reliving the dark, beautiful, twisted moments of every listed name, every past person he had known. They were both familiar and far-away, a dream within a reverie that were gossamer spiderwebs of what had been and could have been. _Tomas, Andrea, Merle, Sophia_ \--

Rick’s heart shuddered as he read on, trying not to let the pricking in his eyes force him to turn away from the dozens of names, these people’s epitaphs, their legacies.

_Shane._

It had all been a different life, a different time, a different man, and the man standing before the wall now felt too much and knew too much ad nauseum. Rick had learned young to compartmentalize, had mastered his emotions as a sheriff, and had become deadened to the world as a survivor. It was a lifelong defense mechanism that prepared him for the apocalypse, only it hadn't, and in this prison, in front of these last bits and pieces of humans no more, he felt utterly defenseless.

_Mom._

Throat thick with emotion, Rick tried not to make a scene and hastily dipped his finger into the red paint can, clumsily scribbling onto the wall four heavy letters just above Carl’s handwriting.

_Lori._

The weight of the name seemed to slide from his hand like wet paint, a glistening red of his guilt reading one shameful word, plastered from his heart to the wall, and suddenly he could breathe. This is where the remorse belonged, nestled in amply with the weight of everyone else’s, and Rick found that turning away was easier than it had been in years.

~~~~~

“I see Judith got to you, too,” Maggie teased when she spotted Rick’s purple beard and plopped down next to Glenn, who immediately intertwined their fingers.

“She’s a little pistol, that’s fer damn sure,” Rick laughed and reached up to his facial hair to try flaking it out, giving up quickly when he felt just how many clumps adorned his beard. “It’s gonna take some serious scrubbing to get it all out. Let’s hope it’s not oil-based, huh.”

“That goes for me, too,” chuckled Oscar, the bright yellow paint flecks luminous in the stark contrast of his dark beard and skin. The whole lot of them were covered in paint one way or another, though Daryl, Carl, Beth, and Oscar seemed to have the brunt of it from their paint fight. Carol had a scruffy pink smear on her cheeks in the same shade as Axel’s painted moustache, and Maggie and Glenn had drawn ambiguous figures on each other.

Glenn smirked and stroked his bare chin with his freehand. “The wonders of shaving…”

“You mean puberty?” 

Oscar’s quip turned Glenn’s face stoney as he narrowed his eyes at the felon. “No, I mean _shaving_. You know, with a razor? Something you other guys wouldn't know anything about.” He gestured at the whole room agitatedly before going back to rubbing his hairless face. 

Rick looked around at the men in particular in the room -- Hershel, Axel, Oscar, Daryl, even him -- and noted how all of them looked quite grizzly except for Glenn and Carl. It wasn't a look he favored back in the old days, but without a mirror readily available to look into daily, Rick had barely even realized his own ample facial hair growth. The extra fuzz was convenient enough with the freezing weather and pouring sweat he dealt with these days, but he found himself quite thankful it wasn’t something he had to see very often. His own reflection haunted him sometimes.

“I find that the ladies seem to like a bit of hair,” Axel quirked his moustache, still slicked with paint, and leaned back to turn his attention to Carol in the kitchen. “‘Specially a good ‘stache.”

“I don’t know what kind of ‘ladies’ told you that in prison,” came Maggie’s leering response. She was leaning against Glenn, fingers still locked, and smirking at Axel as she said, “but a man is his sexiest when he’s clean shaven.” At that, she leaned over and kissed her boyfriend’s bare, blushing face.

“That right?” Oscar crossed his arms, grinning back playfully at the woman. “What about you, Carol?”

Carol kept her back to the group as she whipped some of the pumpkin filling together in a cup, Axel clearly tense and hanging on her every word, and shook her head at them before answering.”I don’t mind a man with some fur.” The grin on Axel’s face had a victorious gleam to it as he touched his moustache, looking to each one of them loftily, until Carol continued with an evident smile to her words. “So long as it isn't pink.”

There was laughter as they teased one another, as they joked about Hershel resembling a young St. Nick and Daryl’s splotchy redneck mane and Rick’s beastly mountain man muzzle, and that’s when Maggie turned her attention to Rick with a devious grin.

“Well, what do you think, Rick?”

Her question was innocent enough, but her tone held an edge to it that whispered some secret innuendo in its fine print, and as much as Rick grappled with the nuance, he fell short of any ideas as to her allusions. After a long pause, he assumed he was just jumping to conclusions and shrugged, thinking back to when he shaved daily and how baby soft his face was as opposed to now. “Reckon I prefer clean-shaven.”

Maggie’s grin widened and her eyes sparkled, and Oscar seemed to stiffen at Rick’s answer. “See? Rick agrees with me.”

“Best keep an eye on Glenn, then,” Axel joked, smiling at Rick. 

Glenn shot Axel a look and was quick to come to Rick’s defense. “Don’t think I’m Rick’s type, man.”

Rick exasperatedly slid his hands down his face, chuckling dismally at being the center of their banter, and quickly tried to cut it short before it swerved too far into his love life, however nonexistent or inspired it might have currently been. Turning to Carl, he patted him on the shoulder and interrupted the back and forth raillery orbiting him by clearing his throat definitively. “Why don’t you go ‘n get cleaned up, son?”

“I’m not even that dirty, Dad,” he groaned, but Carol intervened helpfully.

“He’s right, Carl,” Carol chided and turned to face the rest of the room, eyeing each one of them critically. “That goes for all of you. Dinner’s almost ready, so go on and get somewhat presentable at least.”

At the sound of their upcoming feast nearly being ready, most of them scrambled to their feet and trickled out of the dining area, happy chatter floating to Rick’s ears from everyone, save for Daryl. He left immediately, quietly, like a thief in the night with a single glance back that left Rick rooted to the spot.

“You coming, Dad?” encouraged Carl, nudging him towards the stairs.

Rick looked down at his son and smiled before easing him onwards with a nod, shaking himself from the daze-inducing smoulder of Daryl’s cut of cornflower blue. “Nah, you go first, buddy. Think you got the worst of it.”

Most of them left towards the showers, leaving Rick nearly alone in the painted room. He approached the wall of their handprints, trying to memorize every inch of the colorful mosaic lain before him, and even reached up to gently touch the still drying paint coalescing into one happy lattice of prints. The paint congealed darkly as it dried, imprinting their hands together for as long as these walls stood; Judith, Carl, Beth, Hershel, everyone. Rick’s hand rose so that his fingers were tentatively tracing the outline of Daryl’s orange hand, so close to his own blue one that they were touching, until his eyes drifted over to where Daryl had been painting in the corner. 

Fingertips tinted with the copper orange, Rick looked over his shoulder to assure that Carol was still busied with the food preparations before striding over to the orange wording on the wall. When he finally stood in front of it, he was flooded with overwhelming stupefaction.

With far more detail than Rick would’ve thought possible, Daryl had painted a small portrait of what could only be Rick on the stone wall. It had clearly been quick work with deliberate strokes, as if this were some ostentatious, taboo grafitti that the artist hadn't wanted to be caught red handed in. Above it was some scrawled writing, messy and short handed, as if added in afterthought, that left Rick with a bittersweet affect.

‘Never know best’.

Gaping, Rick stared at the words. It was like a sucker punch had gone and upturned Rick’s stomach, flopping sadly at the idea that Daryl felt so conflicted by him, enough to doubt himself and what was best in all this. At the apparent doubt Daryl was feeling, Rick was spurred with bracing determination back to the paint table to grab the light blue paint can and dug his fingers in to re-wet his fingers with color. 

It was as if some blind confidence had overcome him, some mind-numbing pride and drive to ease that self-doubt that plagued Daryl as he smeared the paint onto his canvas, coating the color around until it resembled a face. Rick was surprised at his own urge, having never been artistically inclined in his life and would most likely just create some embarrassing blue blob, but at the moment all that mattered was Daryl. His fingers worked with a purpose and eventually brought a touch of semblance to the blue mess on the wall, features cut sharp and thin and starting to look less like any generic oblong and more like a person, a particular hunter.

Rick stepped back slowly to admire his work, happy that it wasn't just random smears and splotches adorning the wall next to his own likeness, and after a thoughtful moment, stepped forward once more.

His fingers danced on the stone, less graceful than he’d like, and wrote out words just above Daryl’s script. His own penmanship was nothing to write home about, but it was the message that Rick really cared to imprint on the other man and finally put the empty paint can down with a tin clatter.

‘Always does best’.

Smiling to himself, Rick felt a mixture between embarrassment and pride at what he had accomplished. It wasn't perfect, not even damn near close, but he hoped it was enough to make the other man smile. 

When he turned around, Rick felt his soaring heart sink slightly at the sight of Carol standing there, bewildered eyes soft and plaintive as they scoured each painted face, skimmed each word stamped into the wall. Rick froze in wiping his hands on his neckerchief and stared back at her, an awareness spread on her tiny features and a look of hurt knitting her brow, before he quickly pocketed the rag and turn tailed to the steps. He stiffly made it up the stairs, forcing himself against looking back, against running his messy hands through his hair anxiously, against feeling faulted somehow.

Rick stopped by his cell and ruffled through his meager stash of clothing, trying to find something appropriate, before sighing and settling on a typical black button up and some less-than ratty jeans. No use in dressing all fancy when refinement and style were things of grandeur within a hideous world. The best anyone could ask for is keeping the blood and the stench on their clothing subjugated, as if that were a damn luxury, he thought with dark humor. Grabbing the clothes, Rick left his cell and kept his eyes firmly from the kitchen as he walked away. He reached the showers just as Carl was leaving, hair washed and face clean and clothes fresh, and smiled at him before entering the now-empty showers himself.

The feel of hot water hitting his body after the abuse of the world felt euphoric, each time he showered a new experience of soul-cleansing stimulation of the highest order this life allowed for so long. Goosebumps ran rampant over Rick’s flesh as it adjusted to the searing water and quelled his body in a spine-tingling sigh. 

There were very few things Rick could imagine anymore that gave him these rapturous chills, this mind fogging bliss of escapism that transported him to a deliriously rhapsodic reality of something even remotely beautiful. As he ran his fingers through his hair, using whatever brand name shampoo handy to clean himself with, his mind wandered vacantly on the remnant of that thought. Here, in the prison, safe and sound and without the constant fear of it all being pulled out from under him, Rick settled into a less animalistic integrity and resumed a more human role with human emotions and human needs. He was feeling more connected with his kids, his family, and really, after everything, even himself. 

As far as Rick was concerned, knowing himself had meant knowing his moral foundation, grounding himself in the patriarchal role of a leader and helping his own at the cost of just about anything. 

But here in the prison, he was unable to ignore his growing appetite for Daryl, unable to blame his loose thoughts on the disquiet with Lori, unable to bury this gnawing innate attention for Daryl beneath the weight of survival. Intent was becoming clearer here within safety, and Rick had been blindsided by its razor-sharp clarity.

Rick exhaled his bliss and breathed in his desire, lungs filling with some strange yearning and eyes fluttering closed as he fixated on the feel of the scalding droplets travelling down his body pleasantly. The soapy suds of his crisp smelling shampoo lathered all around him, making him feel so much like a human being again, and cascaded down the curve of his back and stomach to pool around the drain he stood over.

If it ever came down to it, could he be intimate with Daryl?

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Rick wondered at the concept. It was hard to imagine ever getting to know someone else that way, especially another man, as Rick had only ever been that way with Lori and his experience with, well, _everything_ was really quite limited. Lori had never been very adventurous in the bedroom and Rick hadn't even known how to begin to approach that conversation. Rick had always been affected by Daryl, drawn to him in ways he only recently started to fathom and understood his attraction to the other man. But, really, how far did that attraction go? Did it stop just short of the bedroom, or would Rick eventually swallow his nerves and venture out past his boundaries and expertise? Could he manage that with Daryl? 

The quivering spasm settling in his pelvis told him ‘try’.

Rick’s eyes cracked open, head bowed and shoulders hunched, to down his sudsy body at the spark of life he felt in his core trailing down hotly between his legs. His dick was difficult to ignore, protruding from the soap in his pubic hair and aching with some quiet, muted need, pleading and wanting. He closed his eyes again and swallowed thickly. This wasn’t a part of his body he had paid much mind to over the past few months, and he felt the bulging neglect jumping at nervous, wispy thoughts of Daryl. 

Slowly, Rick reached for his swelling erection with one, hesitant hand and cranked the water as hot as it would go with his other. His breath hitched, seeing color blossoming behind his tight eyelids at the various stimulation and his heart lurched at the sudden attention he was giving himself. 

Being with another man was a foreign concept to him, not something he was morally against, but not something he ever thought he’d be doing either. It left him with little to fantasize about, as all he had ever seen of another man was them having sex with a woman on TV or Shane jacking off on the couch next to him. It was sexually frustrating, his dick twitching for something, _something_ , on his part, even if it were just to get off for the first time in months, but Rick felt lacking and helpless as far as what he was getting off to. It hadn’t mattered very often to him in the past to have something to masturbate to and had managed fine, but here, now… It felt inadequate and aimless. 

Hissing between his clenched teeth, Rick gave himself one last squeeze, final and enticing and so goddamn tormenting, before letting go and turning off the water. With their limited reservoir, taking military showers was a house rule that he was currently breaking in his horny fog of Daryl, Daryl, _Daryl_ , and had to press his forehead to the cool of the shower tile to settle himself. 

With deep breaths and forced thoughts, Rick finally managed to get himself under control enough to leave the shower stall, a gulf of soap suds and wet paint pooling in his wake, and toweled himself off. 

Rick threw his clothes on once he was dry and rubbed the steam from the mirror to examine himself. He wished he could say that he didn’t look different, didn’t feel different, that he was the same, emotionless man he had grown to be for years. It was something familiar and safe. But this man in his reflection was in stark contrast to Sheriff Rick Grimes, a man married to Lori and smiling in front of Carl and secretly drowning in his desolation.

He smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt with his hands, watching as his palms dipped and bulged in places they didn’t used to. All excess fat was gone from him, leaving a hard, cut body that he might have been proud of once, before he realized what hell it took to get here. There wasn’t much he could do for his hair or his beard, not without keeping everyone waiting on him, so he finished fixing his shirt before smiling slightly and turning to leave.

It was Thanksgiving after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :)  
> So, in light of a recent car accident I was in, my life went to shit and now that I'm putting it back together, I'm finding less time to sit and type out a chapter in a matter of days like before. So I ask of you all, would you prefer longer chapters and longer wait times, or shorter chapters and shorter wait times?   
> I hope I haven't offended anybody with my awful smut, but it's time to get this show on the road. Wish me luck, and thank you so much for not forgetting about me and this work! Please, let me know what you think :) I desperately need feedback on how my work is turning out, because I find it terrible. But, I don't know how unusual that is for writers. Thank you all.


	16. Treasure

.:Treasure:.

The room was warm and welcoming upon entering it, all lit up with color and happy faces, and Rick smiled as he hurried down the steps to the dining area. Everyone turned at his appearance to smile back, most of them seated around the cloth-covered tables, and Hershel scooted to make room for him on a bench between him and Carl. His son had Judith on his lap and was bouncing her on his knees, her tiny fingers grasping at his thumbs for balance while she giggled, and Carl smiled up at him beneath the brim of his hat. 

Carol was in the kitchen with Maggie and Beth, her back towards Rick and her hands busy with clanking plates and slamming cabinets. Rick tried not to worry himself over her behavior and sat down in the spot Hershel had provided, who clapped his shoulder with neighborly affection and squinted eyes. 

“In the past year, I never would’ve imagined we’d have cause for celebration, or much to be thankful for,” Hershel’s voice was kind and genuine, and he squeezed Rick gratefully. “But you’ve surprised us all, Rick.”

Glenn nodded as well, making room for Maggie as she divvied around their collection of mismatched fine china and a hodgepodge of silverware. There were knicks and splinters missing from the edges of the plates, but it was all they had managed to salvage over the past few months at the prison. Dinnerware and cutlery wasn’t exactly a priority of theirs before recently. 

“No kidding. Who woulda thought we’d have roasted goose cooked in something other than a fire? Or that I’d have a lovely lady to share it with?” As Maggie set the plate down, she scoffed at her boyfriend and gave him a quick kiss, leaving Glenn grinning.

When Maggie handed him a plate, Oscar took it gratefully and said, “Yeah. Never thought I’d be happy staying in prison.”

“We owe you a lot, Rick,” Maggie agreed and handed Rick his own plate, who took it humbly and shook his head at her. Spending every night in his squad car and casing prime locations and suspects, tearing through walkers with the remorse of shredding wet paper, seeking shelter after damnable shelter until finding this serendipitous prison, it was all paramount to Rick’s fundamental, selfless nature. He did what had to be done, thankless jobs and all, and that was the end of it. But the rare times when the thanks did come, Rick could only bow his head and shrug it off with an awkward laugh.

“Wasn't all me,” defended Rick, looking each one of them in the eyes with sincerity. “Every one of you worked harder than I could’a ever asked for to get to where we are. Even when I…” Rick swallowed thickly, smile faltering for just a moment as he chose his words carefully. “Had to step down for a while. Couldn't have done this alone.”

The moment was heavy with appreciation, and Rick looked at each face surrounding him, searching for one in particular that needed to hear these words the most and frowning when he couldn't find it.

“Where’s Daryl?” he voiced.

Before anyone could respond, a gruff voice answered awkwardly from behind him, “right here”, causing him to turn around on the bench. In the doorway stood Daryl, stiff and fidgeting with his belt loops as he met Rick’s eyes with a touch of embarrassment to his cheeks. Rick traced his sight down to Daryl’s cheeks, his jawline, and eventually his lips.

Daryl’s face was newly smooth and hairless, the sharp line from his jaw to his chin void of any obstruction to Rick’s hungry eyes, and Rick caught himself staring shamelessly.

He cleared his throat and averted his eyes quickly, trying not to lose his focus once more to those far more evident lips of Daryl’s, the birthmark near his lip now apparent and drawing Rick’s eyes like a magnet. As Daryl descended the steps and walked across the room, the inevitable shitstorm of banter ensued, starting with Oscar who had a devilish grin on his face.

“Well holy shit, who do we have here?” Oscar smirked. 

“Is that a _beauty mark_?” laughed Maggie, squinting her eyes when she came closer to give him a plate. Daryl took it without looking at her, keeping his eyes downward, and other hand reaching up to cover the freckle on his cheek. “Never noticed that on ya before.”

Beth was setting glasses down on the table and startled when she looked up and saw Daryl, everyone of them varying different shades of surprise, and said with wide eyes, “You look so… different.”

“Pretty, even. Like a girl,” teased Axel, stopping cold when Daryl glared pure molten lava at the ex-convict, and squirmed under the venomous stare. Even with a pale, smooth face, Daryl was still one of the most intimidating men Rick had ever seen in his career when the hunter wanted to be. It must’ve been some Dixon charm embedded in him that he knew how to turn on and off at the flip of an insult or threat.

“Like all those girls you met in prison?” Glenn rebuked, making room for Daryl to sit next to him. He sat directly across from Rick, looking up at him tentatively as if he were already regretting his decision to shave. 

Seeing that look splintered Rick’s heart and drove him to speak up over the back and forth around them. 

“I like it,” he said with a firm smile, filling the space between them with a comforting confidence and silencing the shit-givers and nay-sayers. “Looks good, Daryl.”

Rick hated the inadequacy of his words, the inability to piece together just how stunning Daryl was beneath the mask of dirt and grime he wore, just how enchanted Rick was by him. Even before Daryl shaved, Rick had always had an interest, a growing fixation, in the other man’s atypical features. They often told Rick more than the man himself ever did, with gaunt cheeks flowing from prominent cheek bones, thin cut eyes set beneath stern, serious brows, and delicate lips usually pulled into an unapproachable sneer so unbefitting of the compassionate, tender bloodhound that was Daryl Dixon. 

His jawline was angular and inveigling, leading up his squared, masculine chin to his lips that divulged more secrets than Daryl seemed aware of as they dared to turn upwards, shyly, at Rick’s words. Rick drank in the details of the hunter, so innocently captivating as if they knew nothing of their enticing nature to the man currently ravaging them for their nuance and innuendo.

Clearing his throat again, Rick tore his eyes away from the younger man all open with hope and vulnerability before him and said, “So y’all can go…” Rick paused and searched for an appropriate word to say in front of Carl and Hershel, and settled on the first thing that came to his mind. “Piss off,” he finished playfully, echoing Daryl’s words to him earlier.

“Well said, man,” Daryl nodded his thanks with a half-smile that pulled at Rick’s heart overwhelmingly and Rick tried not to grin back like a madman.

The group heckled each other a bit more before turning their attention to the happy tidings of Thanksgiving dinner being prepared, and when the goose was ready to be carved and cut, Daryl was allowed to do the honors. It seemed everybody else was also quite eager to provide the man with something to celebrate on his first real Thanksgiving, and Rick couldn't express his gratitude enough at that. The mood was overall amplified by Daryl’s good-natured participation, his face hard with concentration and then light in satisfaction as he carved the lean goose. 

The myriad of smells wafted through the dining room, but most prominent of all was the roasted goose browned and crisped in its own fat and glaze, making Rick’s mouth water lavishly. 

Hunger was a sensation that Rick had grown quite used to, gnawing at his innards until he had eventually learned to mute it and tune it out as he handed his pregnant wife his bowl of soup, his teenage son his can of peas, his family everything he had. But now, with the flurry of emotions today, Rick found himself ravenous and indulged in it while numerous people crowded around Daryl and the poultry like scavengers, hoping to pilfer some meat. 

“Who wants the wishbone?” Carol called, holding up the osseous matter all covered in gristle and superstition. 

Carl was quick to jump up and call dibs, having been used to automatically getting the turkey cartilage in the Grimes’ Thanksgiving tradition, but Rick slowed him down with a hand on his shoulder and said, “Easy, Carl. I think it’s only fair that Daryl snap his first Thanksgiving wishbone.”

There was a frown of reluctance on Carl’s face as he nodded and watched Carol hand the hunter the wishbone, who dexterously twirled it between his fingers for a moment before walking over to Carl and holding the bone out to him. With wide eyes, the teenager looked up at him, and Daryl cleared his throat and tried to shrug nonchalantly.

“Yer poutin’s bad as yer old man’s, kid,” Daryl smirked, such a usual expression looking foreign on his clean-cut face.

Rick bit his tongue at the sight of Daryl’s lips and ivory skin pulling into that trademark smirk, the novelty of it all nearly striking him deaf and dumb to what was going on around him. He vaguely registered Daryl’s remark and had to turn his eyes elsewhere. “Like you’re one to talk,” he muttered playfully, eyes flickering back to Daryl’s sculpted face fleetingly.

At Daryl’s extended hand, Carl’s face lit up and grabbed onto the other end of the ‘Y’ shape, holding it with practiced fingers as he grinned widely and tried to explain, “Okay, so, the rules are: two people make a wish, and whoever gets the bigger piece -- ” 

“I know how to play, brat,” he cut off. “Merle ‘n I’d do this whenever I’d bring home some fowl. Ugly sum’bitch would always take the bigger piece, though, no matter who got it.”

Carl seemed unaffected by Daryl’s comment, but Rick cringed at it. It wasn’t often that Daryl mentioned his brother, not since he had developed a place snugly among friends, kin adopted as opposed to blood born, and the rest of them let sleeping dogs lie. Merle was a thing of the past, a ghost that Daryl seemed more than happy to just be exorcised of despite his brash reaction to Merle’s disappearance originally, and hearing his name was a jarring thing for them. It grated on Rick’s ears harshly, tainting Daryl’s burnished face with some painful affliction before he wiped it away completely with his usual aloof sneer, as if Merle had never even crossed his mind. 

But the moment was over before it began and Daryl had moved on with the pregnant snap of the wishbone.

“Got it,” Carl crowed triumphantly. 

The longer twig of the bone stemmed from Carl’s grasp, hesitant and indecisive for a moment before reaching up to offer it to Daryl. “Here.” He composed his voice into something cool and collected and placed the fragment into Daryl’s hand. “It’s a stupid game, anyway.”

Daryl closed his hand around the gift, eyes bewildered from the gesture, and pocketed the longer sprig with a half-smile and a ‘thanks’, looking for the life of him as if he didn’t know how to handle the token. It was a warm moment that both Carl and Daryl tried to play off as no big deal, as some trifle exchange that hadn’t left them both looking away and smiling humbly, and Rick couldn’t hide the grin it brought to his face.

“Why don’t we all say grace?” Carol suggested while she wiped her hands on her dishrag. An array of food was situated behind her, all warm and tantalizing, ranging from crispy green beans to baked sweet potatoes with molasses, fresh cranberry sauce and spiced gravy made from goose fat. There was something still baking in the oven, obscured from Rick’s vision and smell, but he dismissed it in favor of eyeing the main course, the glistening protein roasted to a golden brown and lathered in a dripping, mouth-watering glaze.

Hershel smiled and carefully rose to standing, gesturing for his daughters to join him. “I think that’s a lovely idea, Carol. Why don’t we all gather ‘round and I’ll make this quick.”

Rick was hesitant to comply, not nearly as eager to thank some idle being raining down hell upon them, or simply just absent and withdrawn at best. But he couldn’t step aside from his family coming together, hand in hand, smiles and warmth and love too rare to pass on. So Rick stepped forward and grabbed Carl’s hand with his right, jumping slightly when he felt a warm, familiar hand slide into his other.

Looking to his left met him with Daryl, his face looking soft and curious, as if searching for permission, but his grasp showing no signs of releasing Rick’s hand any time soon. Rick gave him an affirmative smile and squeezed his hand gently, heart rate spiking when Daryl squeezed back. 

Respectful silence fell upon them, even from Judith who also seemed to feel the magnitude in the air from her makeshift crib, and Hershel paused for a contemplative moment until finally clearing his throat. 

“I just want to take a moment to say that, despite these hellish times, I truly feel blessed to be surrounded by such good folk. You are all my family now, every last one of you, and I feel confident saying that --” Hershel’s voice quivered before he continued. “That I likely wouldn’t still be here without you all.

“These old bones can only take so much,” he went on to say, looking so weary and world-worn in that moment. “But being here with you lot makes it all worthwhile.”

Rick kept his eyes on Hershel, but at the man’s words, he could feel his attention listing to his left. The hand in his own felt unbelievably warm and all-consuming as if there were some unbearable electricity between them, sparking at the skin on skin contact and sending tingles all through Rick’s body. But he kept his eyes forward and his jaw clenched, not yet ready to see what was obscured behind Daryl’s surely cloudy eyes.

“And it brings me back to Matthew six twenty, who tells us, ‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in your heaven, for wherever your treasure is, your heart is’.”

Hershel’s voice rang and shuddered Rick’s heart, and at that Rick dared to peek up from his bowed head, tilting it enough to glance sideways at Daryl. The other man was likewise watching him from the corner of his eye and quickly skittered away upon being caught. Rick swallowed thickly, his lips set firmly in a straight line as he dared to gently rub the heated skin beneath his thumb. Before Rick’s eyes, Daryl reacted to his touch in minute ways that would’ve been indistinct to anyone else, but were unmistakable and commanding to Rick’s hypersensitivity to the other man. The knitted brow, the parting of his lips, the sharp intake of breath and the stiffening of his body, as if he had to reconstruct his composure, reestablish self-control against the shivers, the touches, the foggy promises being rubbed into his pressure point.

Beneath his thumb and the small circles it massaged in Daryl’s wrist, Rick could feel his thudding pulse, hyper and erratic, and as he stroked the manic fluttering Daryl finally looked over at him again.

It felt stupid and sappy and so damn good being close to someone again, but the fact that it was Daryl made this all possible in the first place. Rick couldn’t imagine ever attempting something like this with anyone, not since his marriage fell to shambles, but Daryl had somehow managed to germinate himself into Rick’s depleted, wasted heart long before he even knew he was affected by the drought. 

He was high on this other man and he never wanted to come down, hated the idea of leaving this moment, and the fear Rick felt towards that was quickly becoming overshadowed by just how much he wanted it.

“So tonight, let us know our treasure.”

Daryl was looking at him with something akin to yearning, something dark and cloudy that lidded his eyes heavily and sent thrills down Rick’s spine. He was so sensitive to anything Daryl and it left him trembling under the other man’s gaze, so tinged with something Rick was scared to guess at. Rick’s mind seemed to orbit Daryl, Daryl, _Daryl_ , and especially having left his shower far needier than usual, Rick’s body was having a hard time processing the proximity. In that moment, heady with connection and want, Daryl felt too far away for Rick’s liking and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself.

“Let us know our hearts.”

Rick’s breath fled his lungs when he felt Daryl’s fingertip trace along his own, skin hot and alight with static and dark eyes delving in Rick’s. Daryl’s lips were no longer gasping open but were tight and tense, bottom lip held between his teeth and digging into it with reticence, and Rick’s eyes dipped down to them. They were a soft, inviting red from the strain and Rick bit his own lip at the sight. When his eyes eventually flicked back up to Daryl’s, he saw that they had been watching him carefully that whole time, and Rick felt something stirring in his abdomen at that.

“And let us find it in one another.”

Hershel’s words were a faraway undertone to Rick’s thundering heart and thoughts, riled and chaotic and demanding reception, but with flushed cheeks and hopeful eyes, Rick nodded with the rest of them, a resounding chorus of certitude to Rick and Daryl’s own little world.

“Amen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what treasure you're all looking for. -deep breath- Bring on the smut.
> 
> And please let me know your thoughts. :) They really help keep me going.


	17. Thanksgiving 1

.:Thanksgiving 1:.

Hallelujah

What might have been a grim sight in a world hence past was now a thing of beauty. All around Rick were smiles filling gaunt faces, eyes finally alight with something other than fear, and plates brimming with food like an abandoned dream recollected. Their glasses held sherries and wine, flat sodas, sweet tastes they had long forgotten paired with a hot meal and sizzling juices. The reprieve filling their frail bones and slim figures brought a happy smile to Rick’s face as he tucked into his hot meal, any doubt of eating so much food all at once instead of rationing it for later disappearing from his mind.

Candles flickered around the table, lighting up the room dimming in the early nights of winter, and cast a pleasant glow on the evening. 

The happy chatter subsided as the group began to eat, scarf, gorge. Forks felt unfamiliar and uneasy in Rick’s hand, the butter knife awkward to wield against already dead meat, and when he looked across the table to see how Daryl was faring, he chuckled. The other man had discarded the utensils altogether and had a plump goose leg in his fingers held up to his ravenous mouth.

Carl, likewise, set down his fork with a ‘clang’ and picked up his piece of meat with his fingers to mimic Daryl. 

Comfortable silence fell upon the dinner table as everyone became wrapped up in their food and Rick stuffed his first forkful of the goose meat into his mouth, melting with the taste of it. It was other-worldly, and the sensation of it all left Rick uncharacteristically voracious. The savory glaze, the golden crispy skin, the tender meat all dissolving in his mouth and dancing on his taste buds. He took another bite, and another, trying to fill his mouth with as much of the luscious flavor as he could before giving it up and swallowing it down. He finished his slices of goose quickly, lathering it in the decadent gravy for added flavor and fat, and moved around his plate hungrily.

Some of them still held to table manners and civility, such as Carol who took her time with small bites of the succulent meat and Oscar who was a surprisingly slow eater. Maggie crinkled her nose in mock disgust at Glenn, who held his plate close to his face and shoveled his crisp green beans and gravy in by the spoonful, while Axel attempted to follow Carol’s dainty lead. 

Rick watched them all in between rich bites of sweet potato and the tart taste of the cucumber and tomato salad, saving the sweetness of the cranberries for last, but his attention faltered on a certain pair of gunmetal blue eyes watching him.

Daryl had paused in his eating to catch Rick’s eye, a devious smile playing on his lips small enough that it was hardly noticeable in the candlelight but to Rick’s watchful eyes. Rick also paused in his eating to wonder at the other man’s expression, knowing Daryl well enough to know that any slight gesture was an indication of something larger. He pulled his eyebrows into a silent question that only deepened when Daryl nodded downward, at a loss of what Daryl was motioning for until -- 

“Shit!” 

The brush against his thigh sent Rick cursing and jolting up, ramming his knees against the underside of the table and drawing all attention to himself. He spluttered with embarrassment, cheeks flushed and face hot, as he looked up at the worried faces staring at him in the now-violently flickering light.

“Are you alright, Rick?” Hershel inquired genuinely, voice laced with surprise.

His sincerity had Rick bowing his head sheepishly and fiddling with his utensils, looking up at Daryl through his lashes and nodding. “M’ fine, I just… cut myself.”

Daryl sucked in his lips and stared at Rick as if he were holding back laughter, and Rick shot him a terse look as everyone settled back down from his outburst. Rick’s thigh still tingled from where it had been touched, travelling up to his groin mercilessly, and Rick grit his teeth to keep himself under control. The only thing he wanted to do more than kick Daryl under the table was to be touched again, and Rick curled his toes at the thought and had to focus on his food to keep his mind locked up tight.

Rick was in the middle of chewing his food when the touch came again, lighter and softer than the first time in some timid apology, but didn’t stop Rick from choking down his mouthful.

“Maybe you should slow down a little,” offered Carol worriedly as she handed Rick her water.

Again, Rick’s cheeks were red hot at his own reaction and to the contact still on his inner thigh, embarrassment and irritation soon shrinking and making way for the shocking need pulsing up his thigh, swallowing him whole.

“Reckon I should,” Rick muttered, eyes locked on Daryl’s. This time, there was no laughter in Daryl’s face, replaced with some earnest softness, and something solid and firm was being pressed into Rick’s leg intrusively. “Seem pretty reckless tonight, don’t I?”

For a second time, the group resumed their quiet eating, this time with a tense expectation hanging over them, only Rick couldn’t tell for sure if they were all feeling it or if it was just him. Nonetheless, he carefully reached beneath the table until his hand met Daryl’s, feeling the wonderful warm flesh against his leg and holding something oblong. Daryl slowly handed the object off to him, fingertips lingering on Rick’s skin titillatingly before leaving with a warm remnance. 

The two men straightened, eyes on each other, as Rick felt along the plastic object until he met a round cap and recognized it instantly. Daryl’s flask. Likely filled with something strong.

A smile crept onto Rick’s face as he understood the gesture and at the apparent realization, Daryl nodded slightly and mouthed the word ‘later’. Rick nodded back, heart hammering in his chest, and feeling for the life of him as if he were some horny kid sneaking booze back in college. Only this time, it was twenty years later and he was sneaking off with a man into some unseeable future to do unknowable things. The thrill of it all, the uncharted territory, the nameless promises, left Rick with an electric buzzing in his veins as the two men turned away towards their food as if their exchange had never happened.

~~~~~

It was many minutes and calories later that utensils stilled and second and third helpings were gone, tummies filled to an usually peaceful brim and the subsequent food coma lulling the mood. 

Rick had Judith tucked into his arm and held a warmed bottle to her mouth until she took to it, feasting on her own dinner in their satiated lethargic afterglow. The candles were well melted down by now, their wax pooling down their sides, but burned a soft light to the atmosphere. It was getting late, and after trading happy stories with one another, Carol stood to collect dirty plates and return to the kitchen. When she came back, she had a pie in her hands and a sheepish smile on her face. 

“It’s missing some eggs and butter so it might not be my best work, but I wanted to surprise everyone,” she offered with quiet, hopeful pride. 

She was met with smiles and rekindled excitement as she placed the pie in the center and started to cut thin slices into the patisserie to accommodate everyone. While she divvied out the dessert, Maggie stood up with a sly wink and turned to the kitchen, sashaying to the cupboards with expectancy and pulled out a bottle.

“Figured we finally have something to drink to,” shrugged Maggie nonchalantly as she unwrapped the foil and removed the steel wiring from the top to reveal a cork. “Might as well make the best of it.”

At that, Maggie dove her knife into the spongy topper as a makeshift corkscrew and a loud pop ricocheted around the room as she opened the champagne, making Judith fuss a bit in Rick’s arms. A waterfall of foam erupted from the spout and sprayed them with froth and laughter while Maggie took each of their glasses and poured most of them a generous amount. At Hershel, she paused until he nodded his permission to her and poured him a mouthful of the sparkling wine, giving Beth a similar amount and skipping Carl entirely. When everyone was settled, Rick sloshed a tiny amount into his sulking son’s glass and then rose his.

“To making the best outta this,” Rick toasted, eyes on Daryl. 

Daryl gazed back, eyes soft and face embossed in the candlelight, glowing amber on his baby smooth skin. He smiled lightly, cautiously, before raising his glass and nodded at Rick. “I can drink ta that.”

The others followed suit until all of them rose their drinks, cheering their agreement and throwing back their glasses. The bubbling liquor went down like fine silk, warmer than Rick was used to but just as crisp with a sweet acidic cirrus on his tongue. Carl didn’t seem to appreciate it as much, pulling his glass away with a look similar to that at the CDC after his first taste of wine, and Rick chuckled at patted his son on the head. Soon after, their palate was coated with pumpkin pie to accompany the champagne, going down even sweeter with a robust saturation. There wasn’t much to share between the near dozen of them, but it mattered little with Rick’s belly already stuffed full, and the nostalgic taste of home and family was all that really mattered to him. 

“In the past,” started Hershel, “We’d spend Thanksgiving evening at church with all our neighbors. The girls would sing in the choir and we’d share pumpkin pie and -- ”

“Daddy,” Beth interrupted with a critical look, “No one wants to hear about all that.”

Hershel’s face fell slightly and he quieted, and Rick’s heart churned for him. Most of his own Thanksgiving history was spent at the station, alone and working on some case that his coworkers rainchecked in favor of the holiday, his phone buzzing noisily with Lori’s face until he turned the device off entirely. It wasn’t much to share, and he knew Carl’s stories must not have been very glamorous either, so Rick nearly jumped at the chance to hear something pleasant. 

“I do,” he put simply, watching the unfiltered surprise widen the Greene’s faces.

Carl hopped on happily in agreement. “Me, too.”

Beth’s pale cheeks flushed pink at Carl’s enthusiasm and she fidgeted with her hair, embarrassed by the encouragement that everyone was now giving her, prompting her to sing, until eventually she cleared her throat in capitulation. 

“Fine,” she closed her eyes and folded her hands in her lap, looking thoroughly flustered. “But only one song.” Beth took a deep breath, settling her nerves and when her voice came, it was soft and light in lyric, ringing pleasantly in Rick’s ears and silencing the group in rapture.

“I heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord,” Beth sang, pitch trembling slightly as it searched for the dusty niche she was comfortably used to. “But you don’t really care for music, do you? It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift -- the baffled King composing, ‘Hallelujah’.” Her voice rode the notes respectably, scratchy at first as it rose and fell with the lyrics, but then lowered in chorus.

“Hallelujah, hallelujah,” she repeated, and the slow, somber tone gave the religious homage a touch of mournful cynicism. “Hallelujah.”

Finding strength in that familiar pull of her vocal chord, Beth’s voice no longer trembled and the melody of her words became absorbing, powerful. “Your faith was strong, but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.”

Rick listened silently with everyone else, but his blood chilled dizzyingly at the shift in lyrics. Beth’s eyes were closed still, but he felt as if she were staring right at him, pointing her words of song at him with razor-sharp accuracy and it cut him all the same. He shifted achingly, keeping his eyes on Judith to keep the pain from bleeding into his facial features as Beth continued.

“She tied you to the kitchen chair, she broke your throne, she cut your hair!” Beth rose in volume, laced with feeling that plunged the knife even deeper, before lowering to a soft, tearful lull. “And from your lips she drew the ‘Hallelujah’...”

The words trailed from her lips and she repeated the chorus once more, and the rest of them seemed equally stricken with reminiscence. 

“There was a time when you let me know,” Beth startled at Maggie’s voice joining hers in a deeper kinship, eyes opening and smiling thankfully at her sister. Maggie smiled back as they harmonized, “What’s real and going on below, but now you never show it to me, do you? And I remember when I moved in you, the Holy Dark was moving, too, and every breath we drew was ‘Hallelujah’.”

Too many emotions flooded Rick at their words, their melody, their unforgiving truth that lay in wait in Rick’s throbbing heart heavily. Judith was falling asleep at their deceptively explicit lullaby, leaving her father alone to deal with the waves of nostalgia coursing through him.

The faces of his loved ones were awash in the tumultuous sea flooding him, Sophia’s already decaying body recoiling from his bullet, Dale begging for deliverance with the simple crane of his neck, T-Dog’s limp and lifeless body torn to shreds and lain open. Jim’s purple eyes and gaping wound bleeding away his life and hope as they drove away from his final resting place. Shane’s humorless half-smile, so typically plastered to his face like a bad habit, even as his best friend executed him for his traitorous crimes as if he were Judas. Brutus. Cassius. The boogeymen of nightmare fiction clutching his body and bleeding into him, incubus tales made real and crying, laughing, dying in his arms. Just which one of them was Judas anymore?

“Maybe there’s a god above, and all I’ve ever learned from love,” the girls sang on, cruel and beautiful. “Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you.”

Rick flinched at that, near regretting asking them to sing, and his eyes found the list of names on the wall, honoring those past as if an audience to Rick’s stormy feelings and the voices rising to a crescendo. “And it’s not a cry you can hear at night, it’s not somebody who has seen the light, it’s a cold and it’s a broken ‘Hallelujah’.”

Tearing his eyes from the wall, Rick swallowed down his fear of it all and saw that Hershel was watching him. The old man smiled knowingly and joined in with his girls, bringing a different mood to the song with his baritone voice.

“Hallelujah, hallelujah,” the three of them crooned, and the quiet faces of the others were all contemplative in their own right. As they sang, Carol held something in her hand and it glinted silver in the candlelight while she rolled it between her fingers, eyes distant and determined. The wedding ring was small and thin and unimposing in its simplicity, much like its owner, and Carol’s eyes flickered to Rick’s for just a moment before she squeezed it lightly and set it down on the table with closure and finality. Her hands seemed to doubt themselves for a moment in their newfound freedom, confused and at a loss without the weight of her deceased spouse holding them back, but eventually she smiled confidently, looking refreshed. “Hallelujah.”

“Baby, I have been here before, I know this room, I’ve walked this floor, I used to live alone before I knew you.” 

Rick looked away from Carol’s happy scene and found himself under Daryl’s gaze, stoic and thoughtful. The other man glanced down to Rick’s hand and back up again, causing Rick to swallow thickly and clench his left hand into a fist. His own wedding band felt hot under the spotlight, and the commitment it held felt hollow and conflicted with the promises of the cornflower blue paint steeped into his palm.

“I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch, love is not a victory march, it’s a cold and it’s a broken ‘Hallelujah’.”

The three quieted after one last refrain, a stillness swallowing them up and drowning Rick in Daryl’s eyes warmly. The two opposing walls vied for Rick’s regard, the painted hands and painted names in an allegorical standoff, but he was engrossed in the man before him, living and breathing, to pay much else any mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, I'm sorry to do this all to you. I hate song fics, and I promise this'll be my only one. I don't own these lyrics, that honor goes to Leonard Cohen. I'm also sorry to cut this chapter up, but I'm already over twenty pages long and still have another five-ten to go. So I'm posting this now in hopes to appease or tease you, not have to take any longer to get at least part of it out. I apologize if this wasn't my best work, believe it or not I was in another accident and got rear-ended (just a fender bender, but still spooked the shit out of me all over again), which means I've been back to the grind of my neurologist. Whatever, expect part two, First Sin, sooner rather than later since it's mostly done anyway.


	18. Thanksgiving 2

:Thanksgiving 2:.

First Sin

Eventually, ‘later’ came and after all the dishes were washed and the remaining meat wrapped in tin foil, Maggie pulled out the rest of her surprise stash of liquor ravaged from the convenience store. There was an excited buzz as she handed bottles out, rum and whiskey and peach schnapps, and the plastic flask between Rick’s legs became even more commanding at the prospect of drinking. Daryl flashed him an observant smirk, almost impeccable in his timing, as tendrils of Rick’s consciousness wandered away from him into dangerous territory.

When the alcohol started being passed around, Hershel politely thanked everyone for dinner and grabbed for his crutches to turn in for the night, hobbling towards the stairs. Likewise, Carol also excused herself in favor of going to bed, much to Axel’s apparent dismay, saying there was too much unsavory history there for her to end the night on. She offered to take the sleeping baby from Rick and smiled at Judith when he handed her over, rocking her back to sleep from being startled awake. The two departed after Hershel, asking the rest of them to keep it down and bidding them goodnight, before disappearing down the hallway. 

Rick watched them go fondly, jerked out of his reverie by Oscar’s rough voice colored with cheekiness as he pulled a light blue bottle out of the bag.

“The hell kind of drink is this?” he barked with laughter, drawing everyone’s attention. Oscar turned the bottle in his hand to show everybody the cotton candy infused vodka, and in his peripheral vision, Rick caught Glenn’s face lighting up with wide, surprised eyes. “Who got this shit?”

At that, Glenn’s face fell and he turned away until Daryl stood up from the bench to face Oscar.

“Got a problem with cotton candy?”

Oscar’s shit-eating grin faltered at Daryl’s challenging approach and his eyebrows rose in disbelief. “ _You_ got this?” 

Axel snorted in laughter and teased, “What, did shaving turn you inta a lady?” Rick winced at his humor, rough and tainted with callous, crude jabs built as a defense mechanism from his time in prison. He had seen it before, how hard-time affected a person’s coping and personality in order to survive. There were men like Oscar, usually silent and foreboding golems, the ones deemed not to be screwed with by the other inmates. And then there were the Axel’s, the flimsy coyotes of the herd who could only survive by allying themselves with the stronger leaders of the pack, saying anything to keep their heads above water like some cackling court jester. In the few months they had been together, Rick was watching them awkwardly trying to adapt to their new roles. There were no golems or jesters in this group -- only survivors who depended on one another as family.

Daryl glared down his nose at Axel and snatched the bottle from Oscar, saying, “Ain't nothin’ wrong with shavin’ _or_ cotton candy.” 

Decisively, Daryl yanked the cap off, plastic and all, and took a swig straight from the bottle. His nose crinkled slightly as he took his first draft, but only seemed noticeable to Rick as the other man pulled the bottle from his lips with a belch and a straight face. Oscar frowned and rose his eyebrows in subjugation, nodding his respect to Daryl and said, “To each his own, man.”

Rick smiled at Daryl, who shrugged impassively, put the bottle on the table within Glenn’s reach, and turned to sift through the rest of the bag’s contents splayed out on the table until he pulled out a bottle of gin.

It didn't take long before everyone had a touch of pink to their cheeks and a lopsided grin plastered to their faces. Beth was insistent on getting drunk for the first time, surprisingly rebellious as she daintily poured herself an ample amount of peach schnapps in her soda cup and then blanched at the taste. Her sister laughed at her with rosy cheeks as Beth rushed for something else to fill her tastebuds, grabbing at the cucumber slices to chase down the after burn.

Carl watched her with a wistful smile on his lips and after thinking for a moment, Rick reached across the table and handed the bottle to his son. He looked up at him, colored with surprise, and brought the lip of the bottle to his mouth and tilted it back slowly, taking a long swallow as if it were water.

Not seconds after, Carl sputtered and slammed the bottle down on the table, lapping at his lips helplessly and holding his throat.

“Aw, it burns,” he choked out, eyes watering. “Why do you grown ups drink this stuff?”

Axel laughed and snatched the bottle from him, and Carl watched it go happily, taking a drink of water from Rick’s cup to settle his throat. “It’s an acquired taste, kid. Something only grown men would appreciate.” He then mixed some of the schnapps in with his vodka and stirred it with the butt of his spoon.

“That’s only something adults say about gross stuff,” rebutted Carl with a crinkle of his nose that made Rick chuckle. “Whatever, I’m gonna go to sleep, maybe read some comics before bed.”

Rick pulled him close into a tight hug, said goodnight, Happy Thanksgiving, and Carl left after Rick’s warning not to stay up all night reading comics again. It felt good to have his son hug him, smile at him, talk to him, and so much of that tension between them earlier that morning was gone. It was a much-needed weight off his shoulders, and likely Carl’s as well, and Rick felt something warmer than the alcohol in the pit of his stomach. Maggie sent Beth to bed shortly after, now having second thoughts about what it would take to get drunk, and eventually complied and said her goodnights as well.

With her little sister gone, Maggie’s glass was now full with an amber whiskey, surprising Rick as she threw it back and left it empty. At his stare, she wiped at her lips and grinned.

“Thought I was some sweet southern bell, didja?” 

Daryl snorted in the middle of pouring out two glasses full of the clear liquid and answered for Rick. “Those’re the last words I’d use.”

Scoffing, Maggie rose and sauntered over to take the bottle from Daryl’s hands and pour some into her own cup. “Like you’d know a lady if she came up n’ slapped ya, anyway,” she teased with a playful swat. Daryl shouldered Maggie back and grappled with her for the bottle while Rick watched them.

“With yer roots, can’t say I ever expected to see you downing whiskey,” Rick mediated lightly. They stopped, Daryl came back over and sat across from Rick again, face ambiguous and unreadable as he slid a glass of gin to him across the tablecloth. Biting the inside of his cheek in reservation, Rick wrapped his fingers around it and brought it to his lips with a nod, lifting it to the other man in appreciation. Daryl mimicked him and they threw it back at the same time, swallowing the warm, clear liquid down and smacking their lips at the sharp bite of it.

Maggie eyed them as she sipped on her own, taking it slower in between words. “I had my bit of fun back in school. Mind you, that was before daddy got too close to the stuff. But not all us Christian gals are just scripture and chastity belts. Some of us like to have fun, too.”

“Well, that goes without saying,” Oscar laughed as he casually tossed out a condom in a blue wrapper onto the table. The foil shone brightly, shamelessly, on the white cloth in front of everyone like a beacon, and Glenn quickly snatched it out of sight and stuffed it into his back pocket with red ears. “Best keep tabs on that shit. Ya never know who else might want to get their hands on some.”

The six of them drank together companionably, Axel and Oscar starting to loosen up and find their niche, Maggie and Glenn gradually becoming handsy, and Rick and Daryl trading looks. Rick was painfully aware of the distance between them and longed to shorten it, and the further into the bottle he drank, the harder it was to steel himself from that urge. He busied himself with a deck of cards they had found some time ago, shuffling and stacking and shuffling again, mindless and repetitive to keep his eyes and hands to himself. Daryl himself was too far away, but his hand was stretched across the table lazily like a private invitation that Rick twitched at, apparent and standing out against the white of the tablecloth. It was easily within grabbing distance, close enough that Rick could brush against it as if it were some accident, some slip of the wrist, and see whether or not Daryl moved away.

Rick bit his lip -- the thought of Daryl remaining still and allowing Rick to do it again as if he were extra clumsy tonight was maddening, the invitation going from subtle to solid and wanting more. Daryl wanting him to touch him again. Wanting him to graze his skin and laugh an awkward, feigned apology over and over. Wanting him.

With how much his hands were shaking at the idea of Daryl wanting him, _him_ , Rick couldn’t blame the cards when they flew from his hands sloppily, springing up and making a mess mid shuffle. He swallowed and cleared his throat and muttered some apology as he picked them up, hazy eyes of his friends on him and the pile of cards splayed around the cloth. As he reached across the table, Rick jumped when a rough, tanned hand brushed against his and he froze, heart racing. 

Daryl, too, had gone still at the contact, eyes flicking up to his, and Rick gave a half smile and again said, “Sorry.”

Shrugging, Daryl skimmed the table to pick up the rest of the cards and handed them to Rick, fingers once again glancing against Rick’s gently. Under Daryl’s gaze, Rick couldn't hold back the shiver that crawled up his spine and exhaled at his dizzying touch, still lingering on his hand with what Rick hoped was full cognizance and intent. Daryl watched the whole process and Rick felt naked, painfully readable and open to the other man.

“Must be pretty liquored,” Daryl spoke slowly, eyes and fingers still on Rick.

Rick gave a minute shake of his head, alight all over with the attention, and responded just as quietly and slowly, “Not quite.”

Daryl’s face was again unreadable as it search Rick’s features, pensive until someone plopped down next to them with enough force to shake both the bench and the men’s reverie. They jerked back, hands to themselves, as Glenn grinned and sloshed his candy vodka around.

“You gonna deal or what?”

The others came to the tables and sat down as well, clearly expecting some poker game to be dealt now that the moment was gone. Smiling at Daryl feebly, Rick acquiesced and passed around the cards one by one, defaulting to Blackjack since he wasn't familiar enough with any other gambling card game to deal. They each bet one little thing or another -- cigarettes, knives, candy, gum, tissues, anything -- and drank when they got a Blackjack or ace until the numbers started running together.

Rick had always been a happy drunk, giddy at times and careless at others, and even now he was laughing with the rest of them, unable to feel his cheeks hurting from smiling so much. Here and now, in the safety of this warm, tipsy circle of friends, the furthest thing from his mind was any impending threat or doom, throwing all caution to the wind. He was far past the point of getting choked up with guilt at vying for Daryl’s attention, nudging him under the table with his foot, wallowing in the sleek skin from his ear down his jaw. Logically, he was aware of his inhibitions dissolving in a pool of intoxication, knew full well that this capricious titter he was in was a product of his addled stupor, but threw logic out to join his abandoned caution.

Maggie and the others were rosy and woozy as well, laughing as they threw down their cards haphazardly until Oscar rumbled in his deep voice, “Ya’ll wanna raise the stakes?”

“To what, hair ties and bottle caps?” Glenn poked sarcastically.

“How ‘bout a game of strip poker?”

A song of withheld giggles and snorts circled the table at Oscar’s pitch, a pregnant pause filling Maggie and Glenn’s faces until they nodded with brazen excitement and scandalized grins. Rick rubbed at his forehead, feeling something of his modest, sober self gnawing at the idea, but shrugged and gave in rather easily with a lopsided grin at Daryl. 

“I’m in.”

There was no question as to Axel’s involvement, so the group turned to Daryl, who remained rigidly silent and tilted his head so that his bangs hid his face. There was a faint air of reluctance about him that Rick picked up immediately and might have acted on had he not been so out-of-his-mind keen on the idea of letting loose with Daryl at the moment. The other man bit his lip, everything in his body language rejecting the idea of strip poker, but eventually looked up at Rick and nodded his head once.

“Me, too.”

“We got ourselves a game,” smirked Oscar. “Who wants to deal?”

Glenn’s brows knit together, squinted eyes confused as he asked, “What’re we playing?”

Oscar shrugged thought for a second, before offering Five-card Stud as the best option. Rick winced at that, not knowing fully how to play, but agreed to it anyway as everyone else accepted it. Daryl remained stiff and awkward, keeping his eyes downwards as he chewed on his thumbnail, and Rick frowned at his aloof behavior. At the CDC, Daryl seemed the quickest to party out of any of them, and Rick longed for that shrewd smirk and those playful eyes again, so without a second thought, Rick held out the deck of cards to him.

“Care to do the honors?” Rick offered, repeating himself from earlier today when they painted Judith’s hands together. 

Daryl looked up from his withdrawn, shrunken position and calculated Rick’s intention before smiling slightly and accepting the cards. He nodded and started mixing up the cards, shuffling them quickly before starting to divvy them out. His movements were awkward at first, clumsily flinging a card off the table or flopping it face up, which elicited silly snickers from the rest of them.

Soon, they each had one facedown card and were slowly dealt the remaining four face up cards, as if the dealer were trying to prolong the process and drag out the results. 

“Alright,” slurred Axel, picking his hand up and eyeing the rest of the group from over it. “Moment of truth, gentlemen.” When Maggie cleared her throat, he held back his laughter and corrected himself. “And missus.”

One by one, they each showed their hands until it landed on Daryl, who cleared his throat and shifted. “Can I fold?”

“Ain't no folding in strip poker,” Oscar grinned and flipped Daryl’s facedown card for him, all fun and games. Rick looked across the table at Daryl’s hand -- one pair. Daryl looked nearly crestfallen at the paltry hand until Maggie cursed and drew their attention. She also had one pair, a losing ‘four’ to Daryl’s paired ‘Kings’, and the rest of them jeered and hollered as she rolled her eyes and simply slipped off a shoe. 

“I like this game,” Glenn hiccuped as he grinned at his girlfriend. 

The next hand was dealt just as hesitantly, one by one, until they flipped their cards face up with different reactions. Rick had a flush, a set of red hearts saving him from laughing embarrassment, and Daryl sighed to himself at his three-of-a-kind. This time, it was Glenn who cursed and Maggie who let out a cackle as he removed a dirty sock. 

“I don’t like this game anymore,” whined Glenn, throwing his sock in to the discard pile.

Maggie laid her head on his shoulder, shit-eating grin and shaking shoulders as she handed back their cards and was dealt a new set. “I dunno. Think this game is growing on me.”

Hand by hand, they gambled their clothing away, shoes and socks and bandanas tossed aside and the game getting more substantial once their jackets were discarded, too. Rick played along happily, for once feeling carefree and adventurous, and sat with barefeet and cold arms while they searched for their next loser.

Daryl.

The hunter squirmed in his seat, having dodged so many bullets and questioning stares up to this point. He chewed his lip unhappily until he took a swig of gin, followed it with a deep breath, and loosened his belt buckle. The worn leather slid through his belt loops with a pleasant ruffle, strangely satisfying and evoking to Rick’s ears in accompanying the harsh metal clink of the clasp, and discarded the clothing in a rush. Rick felt something stirring in him at the other man’s motion, and his half-lidded eyes watched Daryl’s every move as he played a new hand. 

It wasn't long until they all sat shivering in far less clothing than they had started with, Glenn in his boxer shorts and t-shirt, Oscar and Axel bare chested and huddled over, Maggie sitting in underwear and a loose shirt. Daryl had a surprising number of articles, from his jacket, rags, two pairs of socks, and knife, which meant that he was still relatively decent for the luck of his draw. 

Rick was shivering and now without his belt, shoes, and socks, but was grinning cheekily at his luck compared to the others. The discard pile was massive now and still growing as Maggie lost once more, throwing her cards across the table.

“Ya gotta be kiddin’ me,” she bit, her Southern drawl slurred and jumbled in her agitated drunkenness. She took a swig of Glenn’s sweet vodka, grimacing slightly as she shook her head and grabbed the hem of her cotton shirt. “Thank my lucky stars I wore a bra today.”

Maggie lifted off the shirt roughly and flicked her short hair out to toss it to the side, quickly covering her bare torso. Whether it was to keep warm or to keep prying eyes away was unknown to Rick. He turned away immediately, not wanting to see his friend and respected comrade’s daughter topless, and suddenly felt hints of regret starting to seep in in place of the intoxication. This wasn't a game he’d ever play sober, specifically for this reason, but soon the cards were being dealt and he sipped away his fleeting reservations.

“Tough luck, man,” Oscar said, cracking up when it was Daryl’s turn to finally shed something again. 

Daryl looked like he was going to bolt, staring down at his cards as if they had offended his mother right then and there, but instead stayed planted to the bench and grabbed at his shirt. He yanked it over his head with a growl, getting caught for a moment in his haste, but eventually unclothed completely and threw it into the pile with a sneer.

Underneath his shirt was an old white tank top to keep the rest of his body covered, but this new range of paler, smoother surface area was enough to keep Rick’s eyes and mind occupied. He scoured the other man’s body, his thick biceps, the dip of his collarbone, the slope of his traps and neck muscles, how it led his starving eyes down Daryl’s body. He didn't even care how obvious he was being, how Daryl met his eyes and kept them there just long enough to send twinges of hunger down Rick’s body -- all he wanted was more.

The tiny pull of Daryl’s wrist tendons as he flicked the cards to each of them was exposed now and Rick indulged in it, hardly noticing when he lost the hand. 

“Yer turn,” Daryl spoke softly, drawing Rick out of his aroused, drunken lull to stare down at his own cards forsaking him kindly. Rick looked back up at Daryl, who had a blatant smirk on his face now that the attention wasn't on him, and couldn't help but laugh as he started to unbutton his own shirt. 

The fabric came apart slowly, his cold, numb fingers and clumsy, uncoordinated hands refused to work as aptly as he needed, and eventually just pulled the damn thing off over his head.

Unlike Daryl, Rick didn't have an undershirt to cover himself with and sat barechested in front of all of them, nipples hard and goose bumps forming on his sensitive skin as he tried to warm up. He stared at Daryl, usual modesty gone now and willing the other man to look up, but Daryl kept his head down and gaze elsewhere. 

Something burned within Rick at that, hurt and rejected, wanting Daryl to seek out his body the way Rick did his, and felt almost jilted at the other man’s aversion to him. Daryl was fiddling with the cards, not even bothering to shuffle them, and angled his hair over his eyes again. Without thinking, Rick spoke up harshly, “You gonna deal, ‘r just sit there?”

Daryl looked up in surprise at Rick’s tone, and Rick couldn't help but feel momentarily triumphant at getting him to look his way. But then Daryl was glancing away quickly and handing out cards and Rick felt himself grit his teeth. Whether it was the alcohol or the mixed signals, Rick’s nerves were starting to grate and he didn't bother looking down at his cards when they were handed to him. The whups and whistles from the other men followed by Maggie’s outcry told Rick all he needed to know.

“No, there’s no way. Someone’s gotta be cheatin’,” protested Maggie with a pout as she covered one of the last remaining pieces of clothing adorning her frame. “Y’all are outta yer minds if you think that’s gonna happen.”

Everyone threw in their cards as Maggie firmly dug her heels in, and Rick found himself grateful that even in their drunken state, there was still a sense of decency about them. She grabbed her clothes with a huff and bid them goodnight without taking the time to dress, stumbling slightly up the stairs and dropping various articles of clothing. Glenn also folded, giving the group a sly look and telling them he’d catch them later, much later, then slid on his jeans and checked for the condom before following Maggie. Axel followed suit, shaking his head at the game ending, and stood up to throw his clothes on as well.

“I’m out, fellas,” he said, buttoning his jeans. “Ya won’t catch me dealing with just men. I don’t wanna see none a’ that.”

Oscar laughed and threw in the towel, too, and after saying goodnight, it was just Rick and Daryl in the suddenly silent room. The candles were dying, having very little cotton wick to burn after so long, and it cast lush shadows over Daryl’s face, the curve of his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, the circles under his eyes. They sat there together, silent and shirtless, and Rick couldn't help but feel very winded in that moment. 

Daryl cleared his throat after a long stretch of heavy silence and crossed his arms over his chest before speaking. “Ain't ya cold?”

Rick rubbed his biceps and chuckled, saying, “I don’t mind it.”

“Yer outta yer mind, then,” Daryl said playfully, shaking his head and keeping his eyes away from Rick’s bare body.

“Maybe,” Rick laughed and tried not to shiver in the night air. It was to no avail, though, and his body shook in the cold despite his efforts, which drew Daryl’s eyes over. Daryl took in the sight for a moment, Rick pulled taut and wound rigid before him in the flickering light, then snorted and spun around to stand up. He grabbed his jacket and threw it at the older man haphazardly, not looking at him as he put the cards away and grabbed his own clothes to leave. 

Heart sinking at the sight, Rick tugged on Daryl’s jacket and absently felt traces of warmth seeping into him, mind racing at how to keep Daryl there. He watched in silence, brain sluggish and hazy from the alcohol and unable to find anything to say, as Daryl put on his shoes and headed for the stairs. 

“G’night,” Daryl said gruffly, something strange hidden away in his voice.

He swayed in the doorway, seeming to be waiting for something, but gave Rick little time to say anything back, say anything to keep him here, to stay with him, and Rick swallowed painfully. There likely wasn't enough time, wouldn't ever be enough time, to find something to say to him, and Rick tugged the jacket closer hopelessly. As he made to stand, pocketing his tissue-winnings and picking up his clothes, he felt something shift from between his thighs then clatter against the floor.

Daryl’s flask.

Rick could’ve kicked himself as he bent to pick it up -- this must’ve been what Daryl had been lingering for, what could’ve kept him around. 

He cursed to himself and his lethargic processing at missing the chance to stall Daryl here, just the two of them. Rick really didn't know what he had intended, what he would even do alone with just the other man’s presence, but all he knew was that he wanted it. Would he act on whatever this was urging him towards Daryl, and would Daryl even respond well? Rick could barely fathom the idea, but that didn't keep the dense knot of concentrated disappointment from sinking in his stomach at the missed chance for _something._

Sighing, Rick pocketed the flask in Daryl’s coat and headed towards his cell with the intentions of drinking alone, piling his clothes in the corner and cursing again when he realized he forgot to blow out the candles in the kitchen. 

In the dining area, eerily quiet and ghostly in the dying light, Rick rummaged through the leftovers for something to do, not quite ready for bed. His hands found the remaining blackberries and a smile filled his face at the memory of him and Daryl eating the fruit in the greenhouse. He grabbed the bowl they were in and blew out the candles, filling the room with a smokey blackness as he clumsily clambered up the dining room stairs.

As he headed back out to his cell, Rick’s eyes caught something above him, some movement on the second landing in the edge of his peripheral vision that left him squinting. He might’ve assumed his eyes were playing cruel tricks on him, but there at the top of the stairs was a wavering light blinking in and out of existence with a snap. It took Rick longer than he’d admit to process the image, but in the brief moments of light, Rick finally figured out what he was looking at.

A lighter flicking open and closed, quick dexterous movements illuminating a longingly familiar face in the minute dancing flame.

The ethereal visage was enough to spur Rick on, past his cell and clumsily up the stairs to sit next to Daryl on the catwalk. By some grace of fate, this was his chance for that _something_ , sitting and brooding and flicking. His approach was slow, questioning, but when Daryl wordlessly slid to the left to make room for him, Rick settled right in and nestled the blackberries between them. 

“Want some?” Rick offered and nudged the bowl closer to the other man. “Heard they were yer favorite.”

Daryl’s soft smile was more rewarding than Rick cared to admit, his lips pulled gently around the unlit cigarette dangling in his mouth. Daryl had always refused to smoke in the prison, especially now that baby Judith was here, and instead flicked his lighter and gnawed at his cigarette uselessly, anxiously, mutely. He pulled the smoke stick from his lips and replaced it with a blackberry, closing his eyes at the taste. Rick drank in the sight happily and groped for a blackberry of his own to eat, distracted.

The tender smile on Daryl’s features was more intoxicating than any drink, and Rick reveled in the fact that _he_ was doing this to him, _he_ was making him feel this way. It was addictive, it was dangerous how much Rick loved seeing his effect on Daryl. 

He didn't think he could get enough, tantalized and pacing against the now-blurry lines drawing Daryl’s cloudy boundaries that Rick normally kept his distance from.

Rick had to avert his eyes, distract his mind, choke down his craving with another berry. This was starting to become a habit, he thought irritably, this process of occupying himself with something, anything, that isn't Daryl. 

They sucked on the tart sweets in silence, lips staining purple and puckering at the taste while they stared out the barred windows together. Moonlight drifted through the steel bars, waning from surrounding clouds, casting a pale glow on the two men sitting stiffly next to one another. 

“Rick,” Daryl started suddenly. Rick turned to look at the hunter all violet and silvery and embarrassed, and the other man immediately glanced away, not seeming to know where to rest his attention. “What ya did today… What everyone did… I... It’s just -- well, no one’s ever really, ya know,” clearing his voice, Daryl interrupted himself again before stopping altogether and chewing on his bottom lip.

“‘Course, Daryl,” finished Rick understandingly. Daryl always became flustered when trying to express himself, he knew, but it wasn't hard for Rick to feel what Daryl was trying to say, even when he was this liquored. It was something bizarre and innate and captivating. “You’re family.”

Daryl rose his eyes to Rick’s again and settled his nervous hand on the cigarette lighter. That same, heart-wrenching smile adorned Daryl’s violet lips as he said sheepishly, “Thanks, man.”

The following silence was a comfortable one as they warmed each other with their presence and finished off the last of the berries. Once the fruit was gone, Rick clenched his now-restless hands feeling suddenly unruly now that they had nothing to do, and quickly shoved them in his pockets to keep them to himself. In his attempt to cure his fidgety hands, Rick remembered the flask weighing heavily in Daryl’s jacket when his hand bumped against it and liberated it from his pocket.

“By the way,” Rick’s voice dropped slightly, quiet and foreboding as he offered the canteen to Daryl. It sloshed in his hand provokingly. “Is it ‘later’, yet?”

“If ya want it to be,” murmured Daryl in return, eyes smouldering and sending shivers down Rick’s spine. He kept his eyes locked with Daryl’s as he unscrewed the cap and brought it to his lips with a crooked smile on his face.

“I do.”

Rick took a long draft from the bottle, surprised when he felt such a sultry scotch spilling down his tongue and throat and lavished in the fiery, velvety taste mixing with the blackberry remnants. He parted from the flask with a lick of his lips, watching Daryl’s eyes dip down to the movement of his tongue, and felt that same, strange stirring in his groin. It was new to Rick anymore, but wasn't entirely unwelcome. 

“Was almost expecting cotton candy,” Rick joked and handed off the canteen. 

Daryl scoffed with a smarmy smirk and took a swig of the scotch, knocking his knee against Rick’s teasingly as he drank. “Stuff’s a little too ritzy for my taste.”

“And what are yer tastes?”

Rick felt lightheaded in his nerve, his daring to push the envelope of Daryl’s skittish perimeter, skirting the edges of his own comfort zone now blurred from the alcohol. It was an exhilarating feeling watching Daryl dissect his words, searching for their meaning, their inviting innuendo, and Rick brushed his knee against Daryl’s again in encouragement. 

There was electricity between them as Daryl swallowed thickly and looked out the window, anxious. “Reckon scotch ain’t so bad.”

“You like the manly stuff, huh?” Rick felt high on the adrenaline coursing through his veins at his attempted flirtation, genuinely feeling like a regular Don Juan in his newfound audacity, a stud of a Casanova as far as his buzzed mind was concerned. Flirting was never his forte, never in his comfort zone, but to hell with circumscription. All he felt was Daryl’s leg on his, the other man’s heavy breathing, his hands fisting and clenching at his ragged jeans until his knuckles whitened tight over the bone. It was expectation personified, and it drove Rick mad with mind-numbing lust and urged him on while Daryl remained silent.

“Somethin’ on yer mind, Daryl?” he prodded quietly.

Daryl didn't answer, didn't shake his head, didn't move outside of unclenching his hands and flexing them out and in. Rick watched the thick fingers smooth out his pant legs, and the notion kept Rick from registering what he was doing or caring at all. It was all a hazy, heated blur of want and action anymore.

Rick felt himself reaching up and resting his hand next to Daryl’s on his thigh, hot skin on even hotter skin, their wrists gently touching. Daryl stiffened, breath catching and eyes wide and refusing to meet Rick’s. Bracing himself, Rick edged his hand closer until his pinky finger broached the enticing skin covered in goosebumps, sliding over Daryl’s little finger and running up and down the length of it. Daryl finally gasped sharply, body shaking and reacting to Rick’s feather light caress, and it made Rick heady with excitement.

“Is this what you want?” Rick whispered, leaning in closer to the other man.

Again, the other man remained silent, seemingly speechless at Rick’s ministrations, and Rick didn't take that as a ‘no’. He closed the distance between them, feeling Daryl freeze under his advance and eased his palm over Daryl’s hand in attempts to soothe him. The body against his was tense, rigid with expectation and Rick guided his fingers between Daryl’s gingerly, stroking them open, keeping his movements small and slow in hopes of staying nonthreatening, neutral. Aroused and drunk, Rick still knew better than to push Daryl too hard.

Soon, Rick’s own breathing became worn and heavy, breath ricocheting off of Daryl’s smooth neck warmly and back against his face. Chills seemed to seize Daryl, who finally responded to Rick by minutely twitching his head sideways, almost unaware of the small action surging Rick further to the now open expanse of pale skin. Rick breathed in deeply, inhaling the nervousness and anticipation all over Daryl in some addictive, savory scent, rich and luscious and suddenly Rick’s whole world. He craved it, groaning slightly as he tilted his head up towards the source, Daryl’s exposed neck, pheromones spurring him to unending bounds. 

Thought lost to pure, carnal lust, Rick came closer, his nose brushing the curve of Daryl’s neck. He ran the bridge of his nose up along Daryl’s freshly-shaven jaw line, which Daryl arched up against, and the savory scent of the other man changed to a clean-cut soap, fragrant and drawing him in further. 

Rick exhaled and deliberately breathed out against Daryl’s supple skin, the nape of his neck victim to Rick’s greedy pursuit. Daryl’s hair swept against Rick’s cheeks, soft and clean, and Daryl’s pulse point throbbed erratically. Rick’s own heart rate was deafening in his head as he tilted his head to lightly graze his lips just below Daryl’s ear. The spasm in his body under Rick’s lips had to be the most sensual thing he had ever experienced, and Rick couldn't help but flick his hungry tongue against Daryl’s pounding pulse. The other man’s silence was broken with a nervous, delirious gasp, and Rick reveled in the sound so new to his ears like a sinful prelude of what more might come. 

“R-Rick,” Daryl gasped as he pulled away, face red and heated. 

Mindlessly aroused, Rick felt like the carpet had been swept up from underneath him, abrupt and perfidious, leaving him suddenly lonely and grasping for that connection. He didn't want to explain himself, didn't want to deal with the consequence of coming on to his best friend, he just wanted Daryl and felt lost and dizzy in the jerky absence. 

But Daryl was moving away, standing up shakily and brushing off the seat of his pants, keeping himself turned from Rick’s dark sight. “S’ gettin’ late…” His voice was rough and thick in his throat, cornflower eyes everywhere but Rick, and Rick hated how far away he was now.

“Did I… Did I do somethin’ wrong, Daryl?” Rick felt sick and weak, cold rushing in at the loss of Daryl’s overheated body.

Daryl swallowed hard and offered his hand out to Rick without answering. “C’mon. Let’s git ya to bed.” Rick let his offer hang there for a moment, cold and uninviting, before finishing off the flask and roughly grabbing Daryl’s hand, reluctant and hurt. 

With shaky legs, Daryl hoisted him upright where Rick swayed for a moment before his balance tipped over drunkenly and he pitched backwards. Daryl’s hands shot out automatically, grasping him and righting him and downright killing him with their anchoring touch. All night, Rick had imagined those same hands on him, but now, they burned something fierce and painful against him.

Shame.

Embarrassment.

The faint inkling that this was something he’d have to deal with in the hungover morning.

Daryl’s hands were still shaking, as if in some aftershock, as they guided Rick towards the stairs despite his protests. The last thing Rick wanted right now was for this man, this seraph of a being still covered in shivers and hot all over, to show him any kind of graciousness that wasn't simply ripping off his clothes and kissing him up and down. 

“M’ fine, Daryl,” Rick slurred, angry and humiliated and still so goddamn horny.

Scoffing, Daryl kept his eyes strictly on the steps as he maneuvered the both of them downwards. “Ya ain’t gettin’ to bed alone, and ya sure as hell ain’t sleepin’ out here.”

His charity burned Rick even further, and he felt a scowl surfacing on his features. Daryl cared about him -- enough to take him on a hunt, get him to bed, save his life, but not enough to take care of him in the one way Rick wanted right now. 

“I don’t want you babying me, fer Christ’s sake.” 

_I want you to need me._

To emphasize his point, Rick pressed his palms to Daryl’s hard chest and tried to shove him away, too riled to realize his own footing as it slipped with his shifting weight. Rick stumbled again, hating how Daryl’s hands clung to his elbows to steady him, how his jacket felt warm and familiar against his skin, how the man himself breathed hot ecstasy against Rick’s face, now too-close thanks to Rick’s clumsy balance.

Daryl froze, falling back on his same reactions to proximity, and his face was cold and stony. “D’ya even know what ya want?”

Rick nearly choked on the lump in his throat and the cut of Daryl’s eyes, his set jaw, his tense shoulders. He opened his mouth to respond -- after all this, how could Rick not know what he wanted? This wasn't just the alcohol pumping through his veins, it couldn't be, and Rick tried to tell him so. He wanted push the words from his throat but they felt like glue in his mouth, sticking to his tongue and cementing to the roof of his mouth in something scared and apprehensive. 

He didn't want to be rejected, he realized, didn't want to screw up yet another precious intimacy. Dread. It was there, sour and palpable and sharp in contrast to the supple taste of blackberries and Daryl, and it gave Rick pause. 

The other man looked away, something cracking at his stone facade, and practically carried Rick down the stairs without another word. Rick let him, keeping his mouth shut and looking forward to burying himself in the confines of solitude where he didn't have to look at Daryl’s impassive walls. 

They reached his cell quickly, as if Rick wasn't the only one afraid of screwing up the more time they had alone together, but the two men paused in front of Rick’s bed.

Daryl fidgeted and squirmed beneath Rick’s tipsy weight, eyes moving from the cot to his feet and anywhere but Rick. The only light in the room was whatever moonlight had managed to filter through, and it drew out the shadows under Daryl’s eyes.

“Erm… Thanks. Fer that.” Rick cleared his throat, trying to take his weight back onto solid ground. 

“Ya got it?”

Rick nodded, though didn't feel entirely convinced of his own coordination after the now-unfamiliar alcohol in his system. After so long, it seemed rather foreign to be so heavy-handed and graceless, and took some getting used to. The hunter eased him back onto his balance without arguing further, though, and immediately the cold seeped into the space parting between them. Rick shuddered unhappily, swaying, and was taken by surprise when Daryl snaked his arm around his waist again to hoist him into bed.

The movement was quick and fluid, as if it had taken a moment to build the nerve to attempt it, and before Rick knew it, he was flat on his back against his mattress. Startled, clinging to his only means of support, Rick drew Daryl down on top of him, world spinning. When it righted, he found himself looking up at the younger man, clearly just as startled by their positions as Rick was.

Chuckling lightly, hoping to ease the awkward tension rippling between them, Rick sucked in a breath before speaking.

“If ya wanted in my bed so bad, all ya had to do was ask.”

Unlike in their usual banter, there was no wise-ass, unctuous comeback and a half-hearted smirk, no roll of the eyes and a playful jab. Instead, and with quite atypical fluster and bewilderment, Daryl propped himself up as far as he could and tried to maneuver his body away from Rick’s, as if he’d be burned from the slightest touch. Like navigating through lava or wading through acid, Daryl looked completely and utterly a wreck.

As he tried to pull away, Rick’s hand shot out to grasp Daryl’s arm, willing him gently to please, stay. Daryl froze under Rick’s touch, eyes wide and locked on Rick’s as some cornered wolf, silent and charged.

Rick took Daryl’s lingering presence as a good sign, and let the flood of liquor and oxytocin take over as his hand trailed up Daryl’s bare arm. There was a sharp intake of breath from the other man and in the back of Rick’s mind, he could vaguely hear his superego shouting at him, warning him, begging him against being rejected once more. He didn't want to take it again, didn't know if he could take it in the first place, but Rick didn't want to think about the consequences of Daryl shutting him down again, and so he didn't.

All that mattered now was that Daryl wasn't leaving, wasn't saying ‘no’.

“You asked me what I want,” Rick said, voice low and thick with desire. Daryl’s eyes never left his, never strayed from their transfixed gaze, and Rick was drowning in them. 

The space between them was distracting, suffocating, and was a nuisance Rick happily expelled by craning up into the other man. Daryl’s body was hard and tense against his, rooted to the spot by the sheer force of Rick’s will, and stayed obediently still while Rick came close. Rick’s hand travelled all the way up to Daryl’s firm bicep, his wide shoulder, the curve of his neck until he gently pulled Daryl closer, soft and delicate like a whispered suggestion. 

Daryl remained still for a stiff, pregnant moment until he eventually surrendered and lowered his head to Rick, a movement small enough to keep his lower body buoyant but adequate enough for Rick to resume his practices as if he’d never been interrupted at all.

His mouth found Daryl’s neck again, warm and welcoming as Rick explored the expanse Daryl offered to him. He poked his tongue out, shivers and confidence at the tip of his tongue pioneering a road up to Daryl’s ear as he met Daryl’s freezing lobe with hot reverence. Gently and with hollow nerves, Rick dipped his tongue to take Daryl’s earlobe between his lips, between his teeth, and closed his eyes as Daryl shuddered on top of him. There was an intimacy here surging between them that Rick had rarely felt, never thought he could feel again, and he didn't want it to end.

“I want _this_ , Daryl,” he breathed raggedly against Daryl’s ear.

It was all he could do to not pull Daryl against him and ravage him entirely, but Christ if it wasn't driving Rick _mad_. His groin was alight with need, but Daryl kept a safe distance to writhe and jerk in, the bend of his back arching so close to Rick’s hips that all Rick would have to do is angle his erection with the roll of his hips to graze Daryl’s own pelvis. But even in his passionate frenzy, Rick still respected Daryl’s pace and distance, as lewdly close as the other man’s own arousal was.

Rick licked down the thick tendon of Daryl’s neck, and the younger man was gasping for air as his body bent again. With Daryl’s clavicle exposed in his tank top, Rick settled into the pronounced dip of his luscious, damp skin and lapped down into the curve of it, rolling his tongue over the collarbone and recess. Mouth hot and alive, tingling with the taste and feel of Daryl’s blushing skin, Rick plunged in with his tongue, nipped at with his teeth, sucked on with his lips. 

Daryl seemed barely able to hold himself up under Rick’s devious conduct, his slick tongue sliding all around the overly-sensitive skin teasingly. Daryl’s hips seemed at a loss of what to do other than pitch forward in some searching desperation, his hands clenched and bracing within the sheets of Rick’s cot. 

Rick looked up, feeling the wild animal that was the lusting Daryl strung tight and needing an outlet above him, and it was too much seeing the havoc he caused, the fruition of his unbridled desire. The payoff, the climax, the culmination of his own dirty thoughts made real and sweating, groaning, pleading in front of his eyes. Manifest arousal, carnal incarnate, all urging Rick on with dirty promises and explicit possibilities. His sore lips left Daryl’s bruised skin as he leaned back to look at the moment they had created together.

“I want _you_.”

As he said the words, Rick’s other hand shifted towards Daryl’s belt, dying to hear that ‘ _shiiick’_ of Daryl’s belt sliding through the loops of his jeans again, dying to prove to Daryl just how much he wanted him. 

In that moment, with their proximity and intimate connection, Rick could just _feel_ Daryl’s reaction rather than perceive it. Once the other man realized what was happening, he tensed and immediately pulled away, jerked from Rick’s body and off the bed entirely, even knocking his head against the overhanging metal bar in his haste. Disappointment flooded Rick, but he wasn't entirely blindsided by Daryl’s reaction as he laid there looking up at him, the both of them flushed and panting.

“Daryl…” Rick started, mind racing as to how to fix this.

The hunter shook his head, eyes wide and pants bulging and looking ready to bolt all over again, only this time, Rick knew he couldn't convince him to stay. His hair was damp and his eyes were dark, and a purple-pink mark adorned his throat.

“Yer drunk…” breathed Daryl heavily, shoulders slumping and hands running through his dark locks. 

Rick wanted to argue, to defend himself, but the words wouldn't come. He was, in fact, drunk and had been all night in front of Daryl’s eyes, but that didn't mean that he wasn't forthright with what he wanted. In fact, he might even insist that he were being more genuine and transparent with his inhibitions loosened. 

Daryl shook his head again and muttered, more to himself, “Ya don’t know what yer sayin’.”

Heart pounding, sinking, blood starting to rush back from between his legs up to his brain in a dizzy pouring, Rick shook his head. His eyes were imploring as he whispered into the dark, “You don’t know that.”

Awkward and tense, Daryl shuffled under Rick’s gaze thoughtfully, absorbing Rick’s words before turning around and stepping towards the door. “I… I gotta go.”

Rick was still shaking his head, propped up on his elbows and watching Daryl make to leave. “No, you don’t.”

“I do,” Daryl scoffed slightly, subtly adjusting his pants. “Ain't no one keepin’ watch.”

“Of course,” guffawed Rick. He could’ve laughed in that moment, would’ve even if not for his burning cheeks and throbbing cock. Instead, Rick sighed and got up to unzip Daryl’s jacket, empty its pockets, and hand it back to its rightful owner. It was warm and soft in his hand and left his torso cold and exposed wantonly. “Here, then. Gonna need to stay warm. Carol’ll have a cow if ya get sick.”

Rick’s tone was clipped, bitter almost, and Daryl looked at him strangely as he put the clothing on and covered up his dark bite mark embellishing his collarbone at the base of his throat. He was as enigmatic as always, though it seemed even more urgent to unravel Daryl now that Rick was investing too much, too soon, too here and now.

Daryl was out the door before Rick stopped him again, needing _something_ else to end on. Something to coat the lead in his stomach telling him that he messed up again, if only to paint it gold and coat it in sugar to pretty it up.

“I-I didn't mean…” he started, taking a deep breath when Daryl turned around. He steeled himself against those smouldering blue eyes, scoping and cryptic as always. When had Daryl become so hard for him to read? This was something new and unwelcome. “I went too far, and I… I hope I didn't…” 

“Spit it out,” Daryl encouraged roughly.

There was no prettying this up.

“I’m sorry.”

For what felt like minutes, Daryl watched him, seemingly waiting for something while Rick tried not to squirm under his studious stare. When Rick decided that the silence was too much after what they just did together, Daryl finally spoke.

“Don’t be,” came the surprising, measured response, and Rick’s heart fluttered when Daryl patted him on the arm like there was no bad blood, sexual tension, anything between them. It was bittersweet, his pesky superego scolded, but all Rick could focus on was that he didn't screw up, didn't ruin him and Daryl, didn't end it all. As the other man left Rick’s cell, Rick watched him go with a half smile and hopeful heart still tender from his touch and his words.

Daryl didn't want him to be sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got so many shoes in my hands, I’m just waiting for one to drop. Oh what’s around the corner…
> 
> Please, let me know if this smutty writing was awkward or silly or whatever you think it was. I have no idea how to comprehend my own writing, so I don't know if it's completely all over the place. Thank you so much for reading and sticking with me!


	19. Awakening

.:Awakening:.

It was almost familiar -- a deja vu of sorts -- that kept him from really questioning what was happening, as if he couldn’t care less the oddity of it all. It was surreal, like an out-of-body experience, watching from afar a first-hand account at the back of his mind. He couldn’t tell what was happening around him, couldn’t see, couldn’t touch, but what he could do was _feel_. 

He felt the old corduroy couch in Shane’s basement beneath his legs, cushy and misshapen from their teenage abuse but just as inviting as it had always been. 

He felt the fluorescent glare from the obsolete screen hosting equally outdated sex tapes that they tried to hide from ol’ man Walsh, hellion smirks and unzipped flies making them feel invincible. 

He felt the hushed lull of nerves and sex in the air, terrifying and enchanting and skating the lines of right and wrong, real and reels, templates and autonomy. It was daring to be himself, dangerous even to break these meticulously crafted constructs of himself created by so many others, and he secretly coveted the freedom. 

He didn’t have to be sorry. It was like a mantra in his head, evoking thoughts so off-limits and so mind-numbingly tantalizing. He didn’t have to be sorry, for once, and so he wasn’t.

In that moment, bereft of any expectation or responsibility, he _felt_ more so than understood the enigmatic presence at his side. His right-hand man, his dark fantasy, all in the sensuous energy he knew so inaccessibly, so recognizable and nearly-familiar, strung tight in a stirring coil of heat. He knew that energy, the quiet twitches of eroticism and intakes of breath that drove him mad, but he kept his eyes to the screen and away from this illicit indulgence, this forbidden fruit.

This dark, subtle yet overtly demanding presence was reoccurring, reinstating the role of wingman on the couch, wife in the dining room, crux of his bastion. Not just replacing, but reinventing, fulfilling the roles yet changing their meaning, what was needed from them and what he sought in the other man. There were parallels here that might have been obvious had he given a damn about them, but the furthest thing from his mind was this vexing sentimentality. For Christ’s sake, he just wanted this gentle writhing and soft moaning to yield to _something_.

Apprehensively, he looked over, peering from the corner of his eye to hopefully go unnoticed as he explored the sight of Daryl sitting on the other side of the couch, naked and distracted and just so goddamn _naked_. He drank in the sight -- the other man’s body was just as he remembered when he first happened upon it so long ago. Intoxicated, laughing, and horny, he had chanced a peek from behind embarrassed hands to see Daryl’s body, hard and scarred and very unlike anything he thought he’d ever care to see.

The scars on his body ran together or flitted away vaguely anytime he tried to look directly at them, hints of what Daryl hid from the world. The vision was ambiguous and faultless, his imagination filling in the blanks perfectly when he had to, but the concept of the other presence was unmistakable.

Daryl’s rough, needy hands hand had plummeted to his abdomen, purpose burning away any doubt or hesitance, and while the visage itself was hazy and undefined, the message was ringing in his head.

He felt the younger man start to touch himself, a strange detached sort of experience where he knew it was happening, knew he couldn’t stop it, and knew he wouldn’t stop it for anything. His own groin stirred as Daryl’s cut eyes flickered up to meet his, dark and cowled by long locks and heavy eyelids. His wrist was slow and methodical, pumping himself fixedly while he bit his lip and looked over at him. 

Shit, these pornos were nothing compared to Daryl.

This wasn’t what best friends did together, what best friends _wanted_ of each other. Daryl was his wingman, his right hand, his best mate, but this went way beyond any boundary of friendship. It shattered the realm of his denial as his throat tightened and his breathing became laborious, hands clenching at the couch as Daryl jacked himself off in front of his eyes.

It was more than that, though, more than just lucky happenstance, some beautiful serendipity that Daryl allowed him to watch. There was a deliberation in Daryl’s alluring eyes, drawing him in, ignoring the men and women on the television in favor of everything he could ever want, arching back and getting off right next to him.

Surrealism might’ve been an earth shattering epiphany if it hadn’t been so soaked in sweat and precum, lips slightly parted and wet from aroused biting, air heavy with overwhelming need and selfish hope.

If he knew anything at all, it was that Daryl was close and it drove him crazy. He could feel it, taste it, breathe Daryl’s flexing form, taut with anticipation and knowing damn well how it tormented him, tempted him. But he held back, hands still fisting and wrapping around anything that wasn’t Daryl’s pulsing cock, because if his best friend deserved something, anything, it was to screw himself off to oblivion in front of him.

“Rick,” he hummed, alight with hard movement and slow strokes. 

Daryl’s voice sent a spark of fervor down to his core, currently located near his pelvis with commanding urgency. His body accepted the mewls and shivers from the other man greedily, craving more with every spasm, every prominent sweep of Daryl’s fingers up the length of his erection. 

This was far past the confines of simple friendship, and he didn’t think he could go back to before even if he wanted to. This was addictive, this other man, in ways too grounded in reality to continue denying, ignoring, pretending. This wasn’t some overly-sexualized porn star in a made-up world that he could justify getting off to, this was a real person, his best friend, a _man_ who jolted his dick and kick-started his heart. It seemed insane to him, irresponsible even, but at the moment, with his best friend masturbating to him, _him_ , nothing needed to be logical.

So were these feelings even real?

“ _C’mon_ , man,” Daryl pleaded, eyes beautiful and beseeching.

That answered his question as well as he needed.

His arousal twitched at Daryl’s voice, beckoning and enticing and so, so close. Daryl was within touching distance, warranted screwing distance, and suddenly his hands had nothing more important to hold on to than Daryl, Daryl, _Daryl_. He was everything he needed, psychosomatic or not, and it felt suddenly crucial that he reach out and touch the other man. All he needed was for Daryl to say ‘yes’, to urge him on fantastically with thrusting hips and spread legs, a strict contrast to Daryl’s condemning silence once upon a time.

He paused, hand hovering next to Daryl, silently asking for permission to bring this man, this ideal personified, to orgasm. It was all he needed, and Daryl’s eyes locked with his heavily as he parted his lips and whispered:

“Touch me.”

Rick jerked awake with Daryl’s whimpered moans from last night echoing in his ears, his fantasized orgasm spilling through Rick’s groggy consciousness and teasing one of his own. His body was already responding, already so close from the imagined self-pleasure Daryl had been allowing him to, that Rick reached beneath his blankets without a second thought. It had been months since he touched himself, long before the Greene farm fell, but his body fell back into the loving rhythm as he clenched his eyes shut and rode out Daryl’s envisioned climax. Daryl’s head thrown back, urging Rick to just goddamn touch him, pouring out his hot gratification all over Rick’s hand as he shuddered and melted beneath Rick’s touch. 

He felt alive as he stroked himself beneath his sheets, seeing everything in his head so perfectly, trying to cling to the sounds, the smells, the clenching of Daryl’s coiled body. It didn’t take much after that as Rick pulled taut and tense and finished, pouring months of tension and sexual frustration into his hand and wishing painfully that it was Daryl’s.

“Christ,” Rick muttered to himself as he laid back down, keeping his eyes squeezed tight as he let the sinful fantasy ebb away with reluctance. 

Embarrassed, Rick tried to resume breathing normally, tried to slow his heart to a dull roar, tried to keep himself from figuring out just how long it had been since he had released like that. Reaching for the his tissue winnings from last night, Rick tried _not_ to feel like he had just exploited his best friend and instead tried to focus on the calm of post-orgasm while he cleaned himself up.

When he finally got up, tissues used and spent, Rick groaned at his stiff muscles and aching head. Between his hangover and his unusual rigorous morning activities, Rick felt like he had just finished a too-long, much-needed work out. 

It had been a long time since any of them were able to enjoy themselves so fully, and as appreciated as Thanksgiving had been, Rick’s first thoughts were what the ramifications would be for his and Daryl’s interactions. He tried not to linger on it, embarrassed by his own behavior, his self control all but equating to that of a teenager, and shook his head to rid the nagging thoughts.

Daryl had outright told him not to be sorry. This fantastic man had just offered him a tabula rasa, a slate reborn clean and pure of all his drunken words and blundering touches. This was a chance to move on, act like nothing happened with no reason to explain himself. 

Is that what he really wanted, though?

That was enough to give Rick pause, but he ignored the thought as he started dressing. It had to be better than the alternative, better than losing Daryl completely to his own selfish, thoughtless actions, and he doubted he could give any excuse or explanation for last night anyways. It was a way out, and it was almost too good to be true.

As Rick headed toward the dining area, he realized that he wasn’t the only one awake by the commotion coming from the room, lively and excited. He was curious -- Thanksgiving was over, and surely this festive mood couldn’t last much longer; the longevity of this might prove dangerous. Nearing the stairs, he bumped into Carl, eyes wide and eager.

“Dad!” Carl smiled breathlessly, cheeks pink and nose red. “I was just coming to get you!”

Rick laughed at the state of his son and righted his sheriff’s hat for him, noticing immediately how chilled the happy air around Carl was. He had been outside. “Where’s the fire, son?”

“Ain’t fire,” Carl shook his head and dragged his dad down the stairs by his hand. His fingers, too, were freezing, Rick noticed. He had an inkling of what the buzz was all about, but it wasn’t mutual excitement Rick felt for it. In the kitchen and dining area, his family sat in various states -- some of them heavy with hangovers, and others discussing the recent development of the morning.

Snow.

“It’s a good thing Daryl got that tarp built already,” Hershel patted Daryl appreciatively, much to the hunter’s apparent humility. “Means Rick can still grow his crops, despite what’s to come.”

They continued to mull over the weather until Rick made his appearance, then everyone but Daryl turned to him expectantly. Rick picked up on Daryl’s inattention and felt something inside him twitch at the sight of the other man after everything that had transpired. But Rick stuffed it down someplace where he didn’t have to look at it directly, where he tried not to think about, where he could pretend it didn’t happen, just like the both of them wanted.

“And what’s to come?” Rick asked, nodding at the greetings and ‘good morning’s he received. 

“Well,” the old man paused. “It’s hard to say. Today’s first snowfall of the year, as late as it is, and I can’t quite predict what that means for the future.”

Rick took his mind away from that distinct presence he was ever hypersensitive to and mused for a moment about the presence of snow. It had been a year bereft of frost and ice, and on the road, this was a thing of fortune. What it meant for them here, in the prison, remained to be seen yet, so Rick’s mind automatically raced toward preparation. 

“Whatever may come, all we can do is see to it. Reckon the walkers’ll be slower, which is in our favor, but I can’t say what the snow’ll do fer hunting.” Turning to Daryl, Rick tried to suppress any irritating flush he may have felt in garnering the other man’s attention. “Daryl?”

The hunter shrugged, keeping his eyes on his knife twirling in his hands. “Things get sparse during the winter. Might get a little short on game.”

“Then we stock up what we can. Food, guns, ammo.” Nodding, cataloguing, Rick crossed his arms over his chest and began to plan. For winter, for walkers, for strangers, the unknown and unforeseen. All attention was on him now, and he continued, “We’re gonna need runs for more clothes and blankets, if we can. Hershel and I will work the fields with what we’ve got, but we’re really gonna haveta buckle down. 

“We can do this, though,” Rick smiled at them. “We got shelter, and we got each other.”

With warm encouragement and the intent to arrange runs in the next few days, the group resumed what they were doing. Glenn went back to cradling his head in his hands, as if trying to smother out the hangover written all over his clammy face, but as disheveled as he was, Maggie was looking alight with excitement. Oscar was nursing something that looked suspiciously like a cocktail, grinning and saying something about needing the hair of the dog that bit him, while Axel tried to persuade Carol into making him something to eat.

Judith cooed from her makeshift crib and drew Rick over to her, happily picking her up and scouring the kitchen for a bottle to feed her. He felt thin-cut eyes on him and his neck prickled promisingly, but when he turned around, Daryl was gone. 

Maggie seemed to notice Rick’s searching gaze and spoke up helpfully, intuitively, “Daryl took Carl to see the snow. They had gone out earlier ‘til Carl wanted to come wake you.”

Beth also enthused at the idea of snow and she and Hershel went outside, soon followed by everyone else adding to their happy aura. Rick finished feeding Judith and headed for the door as well, lagging behind and very nearly running into someone in the doorway. 

Daryl’s nose was pink and he had soft white powdering through his hair daintily, reminding Rick sickeningly of plumes of feathers once sown in those locks. The two men froze when they saw each other, silent and still and waiting for the other to act first. Judith, however, trilled and grabbed at Daryl, which both of the men used to distract themselves for a moment.

“This’ll be her first time seeing snow,” commented Rick offhandedly.

Gruffly, Daryl brought a hand up to smooth out her fine hair all webbed out in silky strands, and she bubbled in endearment. “Won’t be her last, neither.”

They fell back into awkward silence, strained with words unspoken caught in their throats while Judith held Rick’s shirt in one tiny hand and Daryl’s thick finger in her other. Rick worked around the lump in his throat until he managed to start,

“So I wanted to ask -- ”

“What ya said earlier -- ”

They stopped politely for the other, tripping all over themselves in this unnatural atmosphere of tension to accommodate what the other man wanted. Rick cleared his throat and let Daryl speak first, bouncing Judith in his arms to give himself something to do other than focusing on his own indiscretion.

“About the hunt,” Daryl resumed, keeping his eyes on Judith babbling happily. Rick didn’t realize the minute hope he held from last night until he felt it sinking heavily in his stomach at Daryl’s choice of conversation, what it was the hunter wanted to talk to him about. Very much normal, expected, conventional, and very much not what Rick was wanting to hear right now.

“What about it?” pacified Rick dully, wishing he had gone first in this exchange.

“I’m goin’.”

Rick jolted up, startling Judith with his baffled surprise, and gawked at Daryl. “Today?”

Daryl didn’t respond, only grunted in affirmation while he played with Judith’s hands distractedly. Hurt was seeping into Rick’s careful composure as he adjusted to the new tone of their relationship, no longer knowing what he wanted if this was the result of acting like nothing happened. Rick stayed silent, not wanting to keep Daryl from doing what he wanted, but not wanting the other man to leave, either. 

“Figured it was best ta do it now ‘fore the snow sticks,” Daryl’s voice was a smooth wall of nonchalance, and Rick’s heart twinged.

Feeling hollow, Rick nodded. “If ya think it’s best.” They fell to silence again, daring the other to push first and cross lines, and Rick couldn’t help but doubt what was best anymore. Losing Daryl would break him, but the silence and pretending was suffocating, and Rick hated feeling like he had something dark and dirty to hide. But if this was what Daryl wanted, this overbearing secret to keep their relationship clean and uncomplicated, then Rick didn’t want to alienate him. He’d sooner swallow his tongue, his heart, than to lose Daryl. 

“You guys coming or what?” 

They were at an impasse, but their stalemate was interrupted by Carl smiling at them from the hallway. There was soft white on the brim of his hat and the two men followed him out in silence, feelings adjourned. 

The rest of the morning was spent in freezing air and falling precipitation, feeble snowballs and laughable snow angels. If anything, the drifting sleet was just turning the ground to a slushy mud, but most of them held on to what they could of happy memories and fun in the snow. Carol made hot water and stirred in instant cocoa for them, trying to recreate some world where winter meant more than frozen zombies and impending starvation. It was bliss, a bliss that Rick stood on the outside of looking in, watching his family while Daryl watched him. They were both always on the outside, a safety net for their family and for one another, a barrier between them and anything that threatened them.

Only now, their proximity, usually so intrinsic and tautological, warm and comforting, was something complicated and confused. 

Rick wanted to feel him out all over again, learn Daryl inside and out as he had done over and over again in the past. Only now, Rick didn’t know where it would lead, and while he was willing to find out, it seemed like Daryl would rather protect himself from the unknown as he had always done.

Daryl was there, always, and even now cooed at Judith and swung her up and around in the snow while she laughed and kicked. He and Carl were covered in muddy snow from their angels and mudmen, and it killed Rick pleasantly seeing him as such an integral part of the Grimes’ life. Rick watched them and knew he wasn’t going to be able to bite his tongue much longer, and as everyone was being corralled back into the prison for lunch, Rick lingered back with Daryl. 

Carl had insisted on taking watch for the afternoon, wanting to be out in the snow as much as he could as if the innocence of snow hadn’t yet been tainted by the apocalypse. That left Rick and Daryl alone again, and when the other turned to head inside, Rick quickly called out to him.

“Daryl.”

The hunter stopped, but didn’t turn around until Rick came closer and said, “I wanna talk.”

He eyed Rick up and down, body language forcibly calm and scowl aloof as he gestured to the fence and beyond. “Gotta go.”

Rick pressed on, brows knit and pleading. “Please. I’ll make it quick.”

He knew he sounded desperate and hated himself for it, but with Daryl’s behavior, Rick was starting to wonder if he didn’t just dream everything last night after all. Daryl took one look in Rick’s eyes and shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding. Rick took that as a good sign and took a deep, shaky breath before starting.

“What happened last night?” 

Nervous, he figured finding common ground on what went down would be the best place to start, but Daryl’s face seemed to get stonier at Rick’s question. “Ya don’t remember?”

Before Rick could respond, Daryl continued and recapped the previous night, voice flat like he was just trying to appease some child with incessant nagging questions. “We played with paint, sang some songs, then all ate pie after. ‘N when Maggie busted out the hard stuff, we played cards ‘n then ya had a little too much ta drink.”

Rick’s heart sank painfully. Had he really just imagined the whole thing?

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Daryl nodded, shifting from foot to foot as if he were wanting the conversation to be over finally. “Why, were you expecting more?”

It was a loaded question, and Rick didn’t know how to answer. If Daryl was just putting up a front to hide whatever happened last night, then Rick might be able to call him out on his bullshit. But if he wasn’t and Rick confronted him about it anyway, he’d completely out himself as some drunken love-sick fool, right to his best friend’s face. If their friendship wasn’t already damaged by all this, it would for sure be ruined by Rick’s admission of less-than-friendly imaginings, and with certain dangers out on the horizon, that was the last thing Rick wanted.

Either way, in this silence, he was making himself look ridiculous in foggy memories and misplaced questions, and when he didn’t answer, Daryl uncrossed his arms agitatedly.

“Gonna get ready fer my hunt,” he muttered with impatience. 

As he made to leave, Rick caught sight of something that jogged his cognizance powerfully enough that he acted before he could stop himself. He reached out as Daryl turned and caught hold of his collar, tugging it down gently before Daryl could shrug away. It was too late, and Rick saw all that he needed to.

“It did happen,” Rick breathed quietly, more to himself than anything as his mind reeled miles a minute. He could barely wrap his head around the purple mark that Daryl now slapped his hand to, covering up his neck and blushing furiously at Rick’s discovery. The remembrance had Rick spinning, floating, grinning stupidly at nothing, at everything. Daryl was mortified, hiding the proof of their drunken intimacy and glaring daggers at Rick, but he just couldn’t stop smiling. Until --

“Wait, why did ya… hide that from me?” His voice was now incredulous, hurt and angry and rejected all over again. 

Daryl didn’t bother hiding the love bite any longer and instead gestured angrily, trying now to hide his vulnerability with harsh words. “What, ya expect me ta parade around ‘n tell what’s left of the world ‘bout some tanked idiot coming onta me?”

“No.” In his hurt, Rick’s voice took on a harder edge. “But why did ya act like it never happened?”

“Thought that’s what ya wanted,” Daryl spoke, fidgeting in frustration. His posture was defensive and standoffish, but Rick took another step closer to him to ease the chasm between them. “‘Sides, it shouldn’t’ve happened in the first place.”

That took the wind out of Rick with a pointed gut-punch aimed just below the belt, and he felt his heart seeing stars, searing from the pain. 

“Do you really mean that, Daryl?”

He tried to keep his voice steady, to come off as anything other than a cold, broken man, but his grip on his composure was slackening as he bled out. He wanted so badly for Daryl to be speaking out of anger, for this all to blow over with a few heated words, for them to get to the real meat of the problem, but Rick wasn’t sure how to grapple with the surprising amount of pain that came with it. He thought he had long since become numb to this back in his marriage -- when had things started hurting so badly?

“I ain’t gonna be nobody’s drunken one night stand anymore, not even goddamn Officer Grimes,” sneered Daryl, eyes narrow and burning conflagration straight to Rick’s heart. 

Rick was gaping, barely able to conceive of anything Daryl just said, despite how matter-of-fact and to the point it had been. Had he really come off that way? Some drunken idiot who couldn’t keep it in his pants for a night? Some scumbag who took advantage of vulnerability the moment he had the chance to? If this was honestly how Daryl was feeling, Rick couldn’t blame the guy for wanting to take a step back. Hell, he was downright shocked that Daryl hadn’t made for the hills and hightailed it out of there. 

Slowly, Rick gathered himself back in one piece and recollected his staggered senses. “That what you really think of me?” Daryl looked uncertain of that, as if he knew better than to trash Rick’s integrity, but while his loyalty remained unwavering, he still looked conflicted. “That ain’t what this is.”

Daryl looked agitated all over again and took a step back to pace about, snarling and glaring and looking completely lost. “The hell am I supposed to think, Rick?” His words, his tone, his face had hints of desperation to it, as if Rick wasn’t the only one shattering from a broken heart. Daryl was breathing heavily, hair still touched with snow and smooth face pink from the cold. “When ya haveta get drunk just ta…” He swallowed away the rest of his words, but Rick got the idea and it dug into him deeply. He wanted to reach out, to somehow make this okay, but Daryl was unapproachable with this chaotic energy staticing around him dangerously. 

“If that ain’t what this is,” Daryl started and stopped, pausing to take a heavy, shaky breath. “Then just what the hell is this, Grimes?”

Rick’s heart throbbed and his mind spun and his mouth struggled with everything he wanted to say, everything that might’ve answered Daryl’s question. There was too much to say, and quite frankly too much that Rick couldn’t fathom himself, and just how the hell did he go about this when Daryl seemed just words away from knocking him one a minute ago?

“I don’t know,” replied Rick honestly, helplessly, fervidly. Daryl looked ready to fly the coop, frantic and hurt, but Rick reached out and caught him by the shoulder and steeled himself. “But I want to.”

Daryl thought for a moment, pensive and hesitant, before trying to shrug off Rick’s touch. “I know what this ain’t,” Rick said in response and slid his hand down tenderly, over Daryl’s bicep, elbow, forearm, until he gently reach the other man’s sweaty palm with his own. “This ain’t something that just happened ‘cause I was drunk.” Daryl looked up and paused in his resistance, eyes wide and trusting and so goddamn scared.

“This ain’t something that I can just keep pretending isn’t there.”

The hunter swallowed, stiff and tense, and bowed his head submissively as if he’d done something wrong, crossed some line of his own. Rick reached up with his other hand and tilted Daryl’s chin up, just enough that he could see into his worrying blues past the fringe of his hair. 

“And this sure as hell ain’t just some friendly kinship I feel fer you, Daryl.”

Rick’s own heart rate was beating wildly, but the pulse in Daryl’s wrist seemed to be almost vibrating in its frenzy. He didn’t know where to go from here -- he knew where he _wanted_ to go past this point, but hadn’t yet gotten anything concrete from Daryl other than an innocuous, dewy-eyed stare and an erratically trembling pulse point.

Before he could glean anything from Daryl’s dazed look, for better or for worse, there was a shouting from the direction of the guard tower, and Carl was rushing up the hill towards them.

“Dad!” he bellowed out, eyes wide and terrified from beneath the brim of his hat even from this distance. 

The two men’s heads snapped up, sudden adrenaline of a different variety rushing Rick’s hand to his gun like a muscle memory as they parted from each other. “Carl?” he shouted, and the two of them dashed to meet the boy half way, hands never leaving their weapons as they sprinted over. 

“Carl? What happened, are you okay?” Rick’s demands came out in an impatient rush as Carl gulped in icy air. 

“Dad, there’s walkers!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAANNND we have Rickyl. After nearly twenty chapters, just what have I been writing? Time to get to the meat of it. What do you think?


	20. Tension

.:Tension:.

“Dad, there’s walkers,” he coughed from the cold and the fear, not even bothering to fix his hat in the crisis of it all. “It’s just like back at the farm -- there’s, there’s so many of ‘em, Dad.”

Rick’s blood ran cold at the news and he felt a split second of dizzying emotions, whirling into one mess, before he cleared them out with a leadership calm, all the demeanor of a man well-used to bad news. It could only have been the mass of walkers that he and Daryl had been surrounded by out in the woods, and he hated that he had let them get this close amidst his family’s festivities. 

“How far out?” Rick steadied both himself and his son, putting on the coat of command like an old, worn badge. 

“Maybe a thousand yards?” Carl shrugged helplessly, swaying his rifle slung across his back as he did so. “They’re at the main road. But dad, there’s like a hundred of ‘em.”

Nodding, Rick took a moment to map out the road not even a mile out before turning to Daryl. “There’s still time, then. We don’t have the manpower to take out that many walkers, ‘specially not if more ‘r joining their ranks. But we might be able to trap ‘em somehow, then deal with ‘em all at once.” Turning back to Carl, Rick put a hand on his shoulder. “I need you ta go inside, go tell Maggie ‘n Glenn to meet us out here, then you stay there.”

Carl recoiled from Rick’s order, eyebrows pulling in offense and hands clutching at his rifle strap. “Dad, I can help you. I helped you at the barn, didn’t I?”

“Carl,” Rick took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice calm despite his son’s poorly-timed defiance. The last thing he needed right now was something stalling them and bringing the herd closer. “Just do as I say. Get inside.”

“But Dad,” his son fumed, not seeming to fully understand the urgency of their situation. “Just give me a chance! I’m older now, I can -- ”

Rick was ready to lose his patience when Daryl stepped in, offering his knife to Carl like a peace treaty. “Ya really wanna leave lil’ Asskicker in Axel’s hands? She needs her brother, man, and ya gotta trust yer dad.” Rick’s pumping heart might’ve warmed if not for the impending walker horde on their front steps, but was satisfied when Carl accepted the knife from Daryl with surrendering eyes.

“Good. Now go inside, you’ll be safe there.”

As Carl skulked towards the prison, Rick and Daryl headed for the gate with a steady resolve, as if their dynamic hadn’t just been wavering between intimate and powerful and nonexistent just a moment ago. Rick’s brain was racing towards a solution like a freight train, barrelling through dead ends when almost every plan he thought of reached one. They were at their cars in moments, but before Rick could reach a single one, Daryl strode past and toward his chopper. 

“Daryl,” Rick’s heart lurched when he realized what Daryl was intending. “Just wait a minute, the others’ll be here soon -- ”

“Ain’t got a minute,” he responded coolly, tossing a long leg over the old motorcycle and reaching for the keys despite Rick’s protests. “‘Sides, the noise’ll draw ‘em away.”

“No,” insisted Rick. “We stay together. That’s how we survive.”

“Those walkers’ll tear down that fence ‘fore we can do anything to secure it,” Daryl’s tone was firm and confident, clenching at Rick’s heartstrings worryingly, yet Rick knew that if he ordered it, Daryl would stay, and was very tempted to do just that. But he also knew that that was something unreasonable and emotional, and that Daryl wasn’t wrong in this.

Slowly, Rick gave a single, reluctant nod, immediately followed by the roar of the bike’s engine. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless.”

Daryl nodded back and, without another word, kicked his chopper into motion towards the fence. Against his better sentiment, Rick jogged towards the gate and pulled it open for Daryl to pass through, trying to feel as self-assured as the other man appeared to be. Without another look back, Daryl tore down the driveway and out of sight with Rick watching him go through the chainlink fence, only pulling away when he heard others approaching from behind him.

Maggie, Glenn, Carol, and Axel all came trudging through the wet earth laced with snowfall, worry lining their faces and weapons lining their belts. 

“Carl told us what happened,” Maggie breathed. 

“What do you need us to do?” asked Glenn, all playfulness gone from his face. Before Rick could answer, Carol stepped forward to look around apprehensively and then interjected meekly.

“Where’s Daryl?”

Rick swallowed away the doubt he was feeling in order to keep the sheer inner fretting out of his voice. He didn’t want to unsettle anyone else more than they needed to be, not when the task at hand was so monumental. “He went off to buy us more time.” Leaving it at that, Rick turned away from Carol’s creasing face to the others and directed, “We need to fortify what we can. There’s still some plywood left from last week. If we can just make some posts outta it, then we might be able to keep the fences steady.”

After Axel and Carol retrieved the scraps of wood, the five of them got to work immediately in securing the fence, lashing makeshift posts angled to hold up the weight of their lives. Rick didn’t know how much time had gone by -- it seemed warped and slowed by Daryl’s absence, as if each minute that ticked by was one too many and he was acutely aware of it, painfully restless. 

It wasn’t much longer before Rick couldn’t take any more of the antsy pacing and distracted busyness, and told the group that he was going to see if he could get eyes on the hunter. He quickly mounted the ladder to the top of the guard tower, trying to reason with himself against fearing the worst, but that didn’t stop him from taking the prongs three at a time. When he finally tore through the slab opening, Rick immediately grabbed for the binoculars and peered through them, scouring the world beyond their walls. 

Carl had said it was towards the main road, Rick noted, and followed the highway with his eyes, glazing over an old gas station, abandoned cars, a junkyard dump until he found a single speck of life surrounded by Rick’s worst fear. 

Daryl was seated on his motorcycle, carving sharp turns back and forth, searching for an outlet in the large ring of walkers coming towards him. Rick’s stomach plummeted to some place between limbo and holy shit, Daryl’s surrounded by walkers, and his reaction kicked in immediately. Looking back towards the other landmarks, Rick tried to memorize the layout of the land in the mere seconds he allowed himself before he fled back down the tower ladder. 

The others seemed to pick up on his urgency as soon as he broke through the door, presence commanding and rushed, and came to meet him in front of the vehicles. 

“Daryl’s in trouble,” Rick announced, preempting the questions written on everyone’s faces. Carol made a noise, but he ignored her and said, “I’m goin’ after him. There’s a landfill not a half mile out from where he is, and I’m gonna see if I can bait the walkers to it.”

“Rick, wait.” Rick turned impatiently at Glenn’s call, having already picked the old Camaro to drive out since it would be the fastest, and wasn’t in any mood to linger about. Not with Daryl surrounded by flesh-hungry monsters. “You’re going to use yourself as bait? As live bait?” His face was incredulous when Rick gave a curt nod and entered the driver’s seat. 

“There ain’t time for us to figure out something else.”

“But,” Glenn hesitantly bit his lip for a moment before he continued, as if he were afraid of crossing any lines. “D’you really think that’s a good idea? Daryl’s gonna be pissed if we let you do that.”

“Well, Daryl ain’t here right now.” Rick started the engine and revved it into life, watching the two girls open the gate for him and turning to give Glenn a hard look as he buckled up and said, “Because he’s out _there_ risking his life for us _again_.”

Glenn pressed on, adamant. “That doesn’t mean you should go charging in head first. We gotta be smart about this, Rick.”

Rick was already driving off, though, out past the gates and charging head first into anything that threatened his own. No matter where he and Daryl stood, now or ever, Rick owed Daryl more than he could even begin to repay and there was nothing Rick could imagine keeping him from going after the other man. Walkers or no, strangers or no, Rick would see Daryl alive and happy if he had any say in it.

~~~~~

While tearing down the freeway, Rick only had a few minutes to mentally sketch out his plan of attack, but it was enough time to flesh out his intended results. What mattered most immediately was getting Daryl out from the center of the horde, by whatever means possible, then luring the walkers away with the few CDs his group had managed to salvage on past runs. The refuse heap was only a short distance away, and if he could manage to draw most of the walkers into the vinyl port, then it was possible to trap them inside and lock the gate.

The herd of corpses came into sight just moments later, and Rick prayed to anything that he wasn’t too late and hit the gas. To his heart’s relief, he saw Daryl, circled and trapped and frantic, now swinging his knife at walkers that came within reach. There wasn’t much time, so Rick didn’t think twice when he let the front of the car slam into the first walker, then the second, barely registering Daryl’s face surprised and aghast past the rotten blood that bucketed his windshield. 

Rick razed through the walkers, barely cringing in his resolve every time the Camaro slammed into another ragdoll body, focused only on getting Daryl free. After half a dozen motor shaking thuds, Rick heard Daryl’s bike launch to life and rocket out past the clearing Rick had bulldozed for him.

Relief flooded Rick until he felt the car sputter from the damage, jerking in its transmission and lurching forward. Slowing down to first gear, Rick turned the steering wheel towards the garbage lot -- all he needed to do was make it to the dump before the engine died. He tried to focus on that as opposed to the body parts poking out of the hood and grill of the car, the mass of lifeless, ravenous bodies following his gimping ride, and the guaranteed look on Glenn’s face when he saw the extent of the damage to his baby.

“Shit,” Rick cursed, steeling himself from the mind-numbing terror as he rolled down the windows and turned up the volume on the CD player. 

‘Sacrifice’ wasn’t right, but it was the first thing that came to Rick’s mind.

The buzzing techno, something Rick used to playfully roll his eyes at Glenn for, blared from the open windows, awakening Rick’s dormant ear-ringing and likely drawing the attention of walkers for miles. The car coasted through first gear like sandpaper, jerky and gut-wrenching, while the shambling corpses struggled to keep pace with their rotting limbs. Daryl was nowhere to be found and Rick was thankful for that, willing the man to go back home where it was safer. As soon as he managed to get the walkers into the lot, Rick planned on shutting them in and driving back to camp, but at this rate, he wasn’t even sure the shuddering Camaro would make it to the landing dump.

Rick gripped the steering wheel with whitening knuckles. If it came down to it, he could outrun the horde, had done so before, and just needed to focus on getting the job done.

The hyper music pulsed in the air as he neared the gates, drowning out the walker groans and his own desperation indiscriminately. The trash heaps towered and the smell was putrid, year-long garbage barraging Rick’s senses in accompaniment of the decaying skin just yards behind him. Still, he kept the windows down, counting the yards, the feet, the steps until the bygone bipeds broached the dumping grounds and he could end this. 

He slowed to a crawl, clunking along to allow the walkers to catch up, when he heard a creaking from the engine and saw the body parts smoking from beneath the hood. The transmission clicked a few times sickeningly before the motor gave out, whirring to a stop along with the techno and Rick’s thudding heart. Rick cursed again and tried to restart the car, once, twice, again and again as he kept his eyes to the approaching herd. The ignition refused to turn over, and the starter circuit whined pitifully, hopelessly, before fading to asphyxiating silence. He couldn’t even outrun them now, trapped in the landfill, stuck between rotting refuse debris and rotting human remains.

Quickly, Rick pressed on the automatic window switch, urging the front windows up faster than their mechanical humming allowed for, eyes set on the walkers spilling towards him.

One walker lunged towards the passenger side, grabbing at the ridge of the glass and tried to force himself inside. Blind instinct drew out his Colt revolver and Rick didn’t think twice about blowing out the walker’s spoiled brains, watching as he fell to the ground with a splatter and ears ringing gratifyingly from his kill. The constant tinnitus was almost a relief anymore, reminding him that he was still alive.

The windows were up and Rick’s heart fluttered at his success, but then seized painfully when he caught sight of the splintered passenger window past the brains bespattering the surface. It was a cobweb of lattice glass, weaving out from the impact of the walker’s head against it after Rick put a bullet in it, a deadly mistake from an almost-victory. Rick watched horribly as the rest of the horde met the Camaro, groaning and snarling and bloodthirsty, and quickly darted to the back seat. His mind searched for a way out, for a loophole, a distraction, anything to escape the groping hands pounding on the glass. 

Rick froze at the chilling sound of a sharp cracking and was embedded in horror as the dead clouted the window, forming a long, jagged fissure, serrated and foreboding. The window was now a spidery ring of broken glass and smeared gore, now kept together only by the film tinting, and Rick held his gun at the ready while another blow sent the pane inwards.

The walkers broke through with bloody stumps and hungry growls, their yellowed teeth barred and papery skin pulled tight and translucent across their skulls. One bony corpse snaked his way into the side seat, looking past the barrel of his handgun and straight into Rick’s eyes.

Without hesitation, Rick pulled the trigger, revelling in the deathly rattle of the fallen walker and counting off his second bullet fired from his cylinder. Immediately, another clambered through on top of the limp corpse, reaching for Rick with decrepit fingers and broken nails and similarly falling still with a hole in its head. His gun felt warm and slick in his hands, smoking proudly as he downed yet another walker. Only five bullets left, he noted dismally, watching the body slide from the window. He needed to plug the broken window with the deadweight, Rick realized, and let the next walker to crawl through the opening come all the way in to the passenger seat. 

Rick pressed himself against the opposite side of the backseat, sweating with fear and determination as the walker desperately made a grab for him, stretching past the limits of his threadbare tendons. 

As he wormed his way into the seat, Rick finally pulled the trigger, lighting up the cab with another headshot and partially choking the opening with the bulk of the corpse. Similarly, another walker crept into the Camaro, biting his filthy teeth at him and filling up the window nicely once his face blew apart with another kill. 

With the situation temporarily abated, Rick searched for a way out of it -- there was no sunroof, no entrance to the trunk from the backseat, nothing promising to keep him alive for much longer. He had four bullets and dozens of walkers left, wondering uselessly if he could manage to survive a shot to the gas tank. It seemed futile, but it might mean the preservation of his loved ones if he could rid the prison of this threat.

Over the dull ache of his head and the droning herd surrounding him, Rick could feel more so than hear a rumbling nearby, coming closer by the second. Some of the walkers turned to the source, but most kept their attention on Rick, drooling and moaning. Rick knew the sound, the thundering turbine, and the man who rode it, but was almost too wary to hope for it all until he saw a makeshift arrow imbed itself in the back of a walker’s head. He’s heart surged as he peeked through the rancid blood smearing the glass, through the thicket of stumbling bodies, and found Daryl perched on the chopper with another arrow loaded. 

Daryl.

Rick felt too much at once to know what to do. He had wanted Daryl far from there, safe and secure where Rick wouldn’t have to worry about him. But in that moment, pinned and destitute in the backseat of the Camaro, Rick couldn’t deny his fleeting desperation to see Daryl’s face just one more time.

“Hey, you sons ‘uv bitches!” Rick could hear Daryl’s voice commanding the walkers, drawing their attention. “Come get some!”

More walkers were turning away from the vehicle, slowly making their way towards the new arrival and dispelling from Rick’s line of sight. The sea parted, allowing Rick tentative passage through the distracted mass of gore and death, and realized what Daryl was doing. This was Rick’s only chance to escape, the only shoulder room he might manage while the walkers had their backs turned, and looked around the car for anything he might find resourceful. He found the floor mats lining the bottom of the car and quickly grabbed them, pausing to consider taking the keys, when Daryl revved the motorcycle and shouted his name.

It was now or never, and Rick sucked in a deep breath before unlocking the door, kicking it open, and tearing through it. He raised the floor mats as flimsy shields, barreling the bodies in front of him as he hauled ass through the scattered crowd, feeling floundering fingers grasping for him as they dropped. They caught in his clothes while he fled, tearing and groping for bloody purchase, but fell limp with the _twang_ of Daryl’s crossbow. 

“Daryl!” The hunter’s name ripped through Rick’s throat as he charged the horde, feeling eerily similar to a dream he vaguely remembered in such a frenzied moment. 

No matter how hard and fast he ran, an endless marathon of teeth and nails, Daryl seemed out of his reach -- until he finally wasn’t. Rick broke through the mass with a roar, blood pumping hot adrenaline like tender heroine alight in his veins, to be met with Daryl’s bike skidding to a stop in front of him. The burning rubber was a welcome smell after all the stench of death, and Daryl roughly told Rick to “c’mon” as he made room for him on his bike.

Rick didn’t need to be told twice, swinging onto the seat as he tossed his makeshift shields at an approaching walker. Daryl barely waited long enough for Rick to straddle to bike before he peeled out, leaving smoke and tracks and death in his wake.

The two men made it to the vinyl gate of the dump’s fence in seconds flat, dirt and debris flying as they came to a hard stop, and Rick fired off two more shots at the couple of walkers approaching while Daryl loaded his crossbow. With the herd stumbling back towards them, the men cleared the entrance and swung the gate shut, quickly wiring the old chains around the front before the walkers could reach them. The rusted padlock clasped with a resounding ‘click’, and the two allowed themselves a breath with the walkers now walled off.

Only Daryl wasn’t breathing. Rick turned to grin at him, flushed and victorious by the skin of his teeth, shoulders heaving and sore from the endurance of his sprint, but his smile faltered at the sight of Daryl’s face.

He was pale, far paler than Rick was used to seeing him, and looked sick as he stared at Rick with wide eyes round with something akin to shock and fear. It was more than that lost in Daryl’s face, though, as an almost desperate, choked sound came from his parted lips. There was anguished trauma lining his face, a horrored knit of his brow that caused Rick to turn around, wondering at this ghastly source. There were no walkers nearby, the gate was holding, and they were finally safe -- if at least for the time being. 

So why did Daryl look in complete shambles?

“Rick,” Daryl wheezed as if his throat were constricting, husky with shaking emotion. “Yer bleedin’.”

Rick’s blood ran cold as Daryl’s words sank in and he quickly searched himself, only to find his sleeve steeped in warm red, still leaking fresh and hot from his body all the way down to his wrist. Before he could hunt for the wound himself, he felt Daryl’s hands on him, tender and shaking, then rough and needy. They tore at his clothes, ripping his shirt open and pulling it away to expose Rick’s chest, then his shoulders, his arms, hiking the ruined shirt back for Daryl’s frantic searching gaze. Rick’s head was spinning, overwhelmed by the blood, by the cold, by Daryl, but felt the freezing air seeping into his shoulder sharply, throbbing with his heartbeat. 

Daryl ceased his investigation in pawing Rick’s clothes off to run his fingers along Rick’s bloody collarbone, tracing it back to the gaping source. His touch was light and gentle as he danced around the opening, and Rick couldn’t even mind the stinging pain that mingling in with his goosebumps. 

It was seconds later that Daryl’s breath hitched sharply, his face crumbled slowly, and his fingers brushed against something foreign and telling. 

Floss.

Rick’s heart pumped warmly, permeating through his torn stitches in a way he couldn’t care less about right now. Everything was okay -- better than okay, even. Daryl, gazing at him with relieved life flooding back into his anguished features, folded in and collapsed against Rick, pressing his face to Rick’s bare shoulder just shy of his lacerated skin. Rick’s breathing was unsteady and uneven, as was Daryl’s, though he assumed for a different reason than his. His heart rate was embarrassingly fitful against Daryl’s forehead, but Daryl didn’t seem to mind anything other than Rick’s safety at the moment.

Pressed together so tightly, Rick didn’t know what to do. Daryl’s hands were clenched in Rick’s shredded clothing as if afraid to let go, and his body was buzzing with something Rick couldn’t read. 

Their proximity was dangerously encouraging, and Rick reached up slowly, feeling the blood dripping at a different angle from the movement, and let his hands find Daryl’s shoulders. They were tight and tense, and Daryl’s whole body shook as Rick’s fingers slid down his shoulder blades, dipping against the hard angles and muscles of the younger man’s body. Rick hoped his touch was soothing the other, drawn so taut against him, but had the wind cruelly knocked out of him as Daryl shoved him back, awakened by his touch. 

The push was harsh and Rick was suddenly cold without Daryl’s body against his bare one, losing his breath when his back met with the vinyl gate forcefully. When he looked up, he couldn’t keep the pain out of his glare.

Daryl was likewise glaring back at him, made contrary with Rick’s blood glistening in his hair and wiped across his forehead. The tender moment was gone and Rick wanted to cling to it, but felt it slipping through his wanting fingers, replaced with something cold and snarling.

“What’s the matter with you?” started Rick, feeling the burning pain in his shoulder secondary to the many scorching emotions storming through him.

“With _me_?” Daryl spat. “The hell were ya even thinking? Charging in like that.”

“I was _thinking_ ,” Rick responded hotly, eyes narrowed and refusing to acknowledge just how badly he missed Daryl’s body. “That you were gonna die out there without me ‘charging in like that’.”

“So you go riskin’ yer life again?” The look in Daryl’s eyes was wild and wounded, and Rick realized that he had seen this before, many times over. Every time Daryl saved his life, he had this pained, frustrated agitation covering something that looked to Rick like fear. “Don’t ya ever _listen_?” Rick felt the horde of walkers at his back pressing against the solid fence, riled by the blood gushing from his reopened gunshot wound, but ignored them to deal with his fuming companion. 

“I won’t leave you to die, Daryl.”

Rick’s voice was firm and unmoving, making it clear that he wouldn’t even consider the idea, much less compromise with it, though Daryl wasn’t appeased by his answer. 

“Then yer a dumbass, risking it all fer some scummy redneck,” spat Daryl, turning away from Rick. 

Even with his back turned, Rick could still feel how disparaging Daryl was of himself, and it pushed Rick a step closer to him, simmering his heated emotions. Lori had made scathing comments all the times Rick had stuck his neck out for Daryl, and Shane had rebelled against their reliant dynamic quite vocally from the start. No-one seemed to understand Rick risking his life for Daryl, not even Daryl himself, and that rended at Rick’s sore heartstrings.

“Daryl,” he approached with a low voice, riding the cusp of fear and exhilaration with his next words. Slowly, he reached out to brush his fingertips against Daryl’s wrist, uncertain of the other man’s reaction. Gathering his courage when Daryl didn’t pull away, Rick stepped closer and echoed Daryl’s words back to him from so many lifetimes ago. 

“I ain’t gonna sit around while someone threatens me n’ my own.”

Daryl tensed and kept his back to Rick, snorting at Rick’s choice of words but let the matter drop by simply muttering, “That’s dirty.” Rick could still feel the fear doused in anger agitated and boiling beneath Daryl’s stiff exterior like sizzling gasoline waiting for another spark, but the hunter simply turned his wrist to lightly tug at Rick’s hand.

“C’mon,” Daryl urged them towards the bike before letting go of Rick’s hand to mount it, scooting forward to make more room for his passenger. “‘Fore ya bleed ta death.”

Rick managed to smile despite Daryl avoiding his eye and perched on the seat behind the other, this time far more aware and sensitive to their proximity without walkers nicking them. Daryl, too, seemed more affected by Rick’s immediacy, sitting up straighter and keeping his face forward. 

After Rick settled in, tensely trying to keep as much space between his thighs and Daryl’s as possible without falling off, Daryl started the chopper with a loud roar and walked the bike forward until he found his momentum. Rick didn’t know how to ride a motorcycle, per se, but he imagined the balance was less than manageable with two people and wished he knew the etiquette of riding bitch. He opened his mouth to ask Daryl where to put his hands right as Daryl took off, launching Rick backwards and forcing him to cling to the hunter to stay on.

He could feel Daryl’s chest rumble, whether from a flustered growl or an amused chuckle, Rick didn’t know, but he gave up any reservations he had about touching the other man with the propulsion of the motorcycle. Daryl would just have to deal with Rick’s thighs pressing tightly against him, his hands clutching desperately at his waist, and his chest pinned against his back. 

This man had saved his life yet again, Rick mused as they drove back, listing slower than Rick had ever seen the hunter ride before. He took the time to settle in and enjoy the comfortable middle ground they had wordlessly found somewhere between nearly dying and riding tandem together. Rick knew Daryl was always a man to play his cards close to his chest, and was a technique Rick practiced quite often himself, but something about Daryl made him want to up the ante, call the blind, double down. He was tired of this hesitant game of shy poker faces and careful, calculated folds, and as scared shitless as he was, Rick was ready to go all in. 

Was Daryl willing to rise up and meet that bet?

Rick felt every bump and hole beneath the tires, bringing the men minutely closer, and tried not to clench his thigh muscles around Daryl with every jolt.

Daryl’s body was coiled tight and nervous at first beneath Rick’s body but eventually loosened with the leisure of the bike, moving with the turns and inclines, rising slightly when they descended, shifting against Rick enthrallingly. 

It was all Rick could do to keep himself from getting hard against Daryl’s flexing backside.

Flashbacks of last night came to him at the worst possible moment, stirring kinetic heat beneath his pelvis and making him shudder lusciously, shattering his rigid mental restraint. Images of dream-Daryl jacking off to him made him bite his lip and clench Daryl’s sides, and he pressed his cheek to Daryl’s warm body with a shaky breath. He was so inviting and close, close enough for Rick to inhale that thick scent of Daryl’s intoxicating essence, and he let his fingers absently run along the cut of Daryl’s abdomen. 

But then Daryl flinched against him, was leaving in his mind, and Rick woke up from his dream to swallow his lust for the other man’s sake. Rick had no idea what Daryl wanted, mixed signals sending him this way and that on a fool’s errand to nowhere, and didn’t think even Daryl knew what he wanted. Maybe it was because he was a man, but Daryl seemed even more hesitant in his approach than ever before.

So he bit his cheek and settled in snugly, keeping his mind as far from the gutter as his short leash could manage, just enjoying the shelter that Daryl provided from the world, as ambiguous as it was.

~~~~~

The tandem motorcycle ride ended too soon and not soon enough, with both men jumping apart as soon as the others shut the fence. 

Rick’s self-control was frayed and pushed to the limit, and he shoved his hands in his pockets awkwardly as he let the others size them up. Daryl told them what happened, how he had planned to round them up and distract them but ended up as the center of the attention in the inescapable diameter. He was unreadable when he finally looked at Rick, face carefully constructed in a formal slate of calculated vacancy as they acknowledged one another.

When their eyes met, Rick nodded at him, feeling his heart sinking when the other turned away without a word, but Maggie ran to Rick’s side, taking in the gruesome appearance and extent of damage with wide eyes. 

“Rick…”

“M’ okay,” Rick assured bluntly before Maggie could ask. “It ain’t a bite. Just my stitches opened up again.”

The lot of them sighed with relief and headed inside while Carol stayed back as the afternoon watch, and as they left the fence, Glenn took a moment to look around worriedly. Rick clenched his jaw and sighed heavily when he figured out what the other was searching for -- he wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to him.

“Glenn,” started Rick, lips parted while he tried to think of how best to tell him.

Before he could grasp how to tell him that one of the few things that brought him pure joy in this world was ruined because of Rick’s actions, Daryl stepped in and, as eloquently as always, hammered in the nail to the coffin quite briskly.

“Car’s busted.”

The asian man’s face fell dismally with a reluctant recognition, as if he’d been sadly resigned to the loss since Rick drove off from the prison entrance with the Camaro. 

“I’ll make it up to ya,” Rick promised with guilty reassurance.

Daryl came up next to him and patted him on the back roughly, saying, “He’ll find ya a better one.” Rick’s brows rose and he very much wanted to veto that, to keep Glenn from getting his hopes up, but the hopeful grin that scrunched Glenn’s face kept Rick’s mouth shut. Daryl smirked and jostled Rick again before turning and leaving towards the prison alone. 

By the time Rick got inside, Hershel was there in the doorway, crowded by Carl and Beth with a fussy Judith, who quickly shooed them away so he could look at Rick’s weeping wound. With a disappointed frown, the kind Rick used to receive from his grandpa when he’d catch Rick and Shane sneaking candy or cigarettes, Hershel ordered Rick down the hallway towards his cell. When they were settled in the same patient-surgeon design as they were once before, Maggie came in to deliver the equipment, setting it down on the table beside her daddy. Rick was surprised when she didn’t leave -- Hershel didn’t usually let people watch his operations -- but was even more taken aback when she sat down on the bed next to him.

“Gotta keep ya still,” she smiled sweetly, taking ahold of his elbow and propping him up securely. “You know that.”

Before Rick could stop himself, he wondered aloud, “Where’s Daryl?”

Maggie’s smile softened, as if she had been expecting him to ask, and crossed her long legs on the bed while Hershel began removing the old floss tethered to Rick’s frayed skin. “He went off on a hunt.”

“Already?” Rick questioned worriedly, hardly wincing as Hershel tweezed out the tattered twine. 

Gently, Maggie patted his arm and nodded, as if she understood these feelings that Rick couldn’t, and Rick found that, strangely, he hated that right now. He turned away from her, sooner willing to rip his heart straight from his sleeve than have her give him that sickeningly saccharine, sympathetic look. 

The surgery went by quietly, painfully, though Rick’s thoughts were far away and detached, still drifting someplace happier that smelled of high octane and sweat. The last thing Rick wanted to be was present, in the midst of throbbing pain and unsettling tenderness. On top of keeping Rick’s twitching muscles still, Maggie was constantly wiping away the endless blood pooling in Rick’s yawning skin, tucking her full lips between her teeth in concentration. Each time her hand drew away, the rag was more and more sodden with his deep red than Rick cared to mind, and clenched his jaw with each pull of the needle. 

Daryl had been so adamant against Rick tearing out of the safety of camp, defying danger to come save him, and something about the subtext was almost insulting. Rick could feel his hackles rising defensively at Daryl’s reaction, at his constant scowl whenever Rick stood between him and snarling peril. Was this a thing of pride for Daryl? He’d wouldn’t be caught dead as some shrieking damsel in bloody distress, and would sooner shove Rick away and be swarmed with his head held high?

_Then yer a dumbass, risking it all fer some scummy redneck._

With added insult to injury, Rick couldn’t help but squirm in his flaring anger towards Daryl’s piercing eyes and fallen shoulders, not even so much as a ‘thank you’ spurring Rick’s blood pressure to a boiling point. 

He’d rather die than let Rick help him, Daryl had made that perfectly clear on numerous occasions, and Rick couldn’t tell if that was out of selfishness or selflessness. Didn’t Daryl realize just how important he was to the group, to _him_? They were both stubborn to a fault at times, but in a matter of life and death, nothing could make Rick budge against this. Even if it meant pulling Daryl from the fray spitting mad, with his own bleeding wounds and hurting heart to show for it, Rick had no intentions of stopping and couldn’t for the life of him understand why that sent Daryl into a rage.

Rick could feel his pulse elevating, and soon Maggie had to get a new cloth while Hershel was threading his skin together with a minty finish.

Trying to distract himself, Rick let his mind float even further into those stirring emotions sown between them and found himself recalling Daryl’s face, stricken and heartsick and bleeding right along with Rick. Time had seemed to stop for just a moment, frozen in a fear worse than being surrounded by walkers himself, and Daryl’s face paled in a way it never did in the grisly battlefields. But then Daryl was acting, running forward with frantic hands and a decomposure not fit for this stoic man, and Rick couldn’t help that he wasn’t as afraid as he should’ve been with his bleeding wound. 

Daryl’s sharp intake of air had resounded in Rick, some breathless harbinger heralding good news and happy tidings Rick only cared so much about when Daryl was touching him. 

He tried not to look at Maggie when he felt the goosebumps rising to his skin, body responding to ghostly touches still lingering like a loving memory. It was a short-lived and bittersweet thing, because soon after, his body was remembering the harsh shove by those same tender hands and left Rick just as confused and agitated. He clenched his jaw again as Hershel cut and charred the end of the twine to conclude his work, cauterizing Rick’s inflamed skin as he did so, and set the bloody curved needle down. 

“All finished,” Hershel said with a soft smile as he cracked his hunched back. “This time, let’s keep it that way, hmm?”

“Sure,” agreed Rick distractedly. He was grateful to Hershel and happy for the surgery to be over, his stitches and head throbbing in time with his heavy heart, but felt a smothering and sleepy torpor blanketing down on him in the aftermath. 

Hershel seemed to notice and patted him on the knee before hoisting to a standing position. “Why dontcha get some sleep, Rick? Doctor’s orders.”

Rick smiled up at him and squeezed Hershel’s arms in appreciation. “Thank you fer this.”

“You keep us safe, Rick,” Hershel’s words were soothing and much-needed by Rick’s battered conscience, and he reveled in them with a smile. He knew he had done right by Daryl, and wouldn’t have acted any different if he had to do it over again, but Daryl’s pained silence gave Rick pause. 

“It’s the least I could do,” continued Hershel as he cleaned off his hands. “Though we might all breathe a little easier if ya’d kindly heal properly before running off. I’ll be back to check it later, make sure there’s no infection. Maggie, if you wouldn’t mind cleaning up for me, I might go lay down for a bit.” 

“Hershel,” Rick stopped, voiced halting slightly. “If Daryl comes back, could you let me know?”

With a nod, he hobbled out of Rick’s cell, leaving Maggie and Rick alone to clean up in a heavy, awkward silence. He kept his attention pointedly elsewhere, not wanting that typical and unwavering compassion she always had directed towards him, and picked at his torn pants. The silence didn’t last long, as Rick knew it likely wouldn’t, and while Maggie was cleaning off the tools and putting them away, she spoke up.

“So, what’d ya do to him?”

Rick was taken aback for a moment, breaking his will not to look over at her and turning towards her with his defenses already setting in place. She was baiting his answer with her innocent smile, that same illicit innuendo tainting her sweet facade that she held whenever she mentioned a certain someone. 

Cooly, Rick decided against feeding into it and giving her whatever cryptic information she was hunting for, instead opting to clear his face of any expectancy. “Who?”

Maggie rolled her eyes as she finished cleaning up the place and ordering her daddy’s tools, clasping the case roughly. “You know who.” Wiping off her hands on her jeans, she turned to him with a cocked eyebrow and put a hand on her hip haughtily, clarifying for good measure, “Daryl.” 

“I didn’t do anything to ‘em,” Rick asserted. 

There was a touch of disbelief in her voice when Maggie said, “Well, he sure stormed out like ya did.”

Rick snorted at that, knowing full well how the other man liked to bail out of the public eye when the dust began to settle around him, and realized just how much he wanted Daryl present. Since when was protecting someone a sin? Dismally, Rick leaned over on his knee and cupped his hand in his chin, and said, “S’what I get fer saving his life, I guess.”

He had said it more to himself than anything and wanted nothing more than to just curl in on himself and sleep the stress of the day away. Between the walker encroachment and him confessing his feelings to Daryl, all in cruelly quick succession, Rick was drained of everything. The pounding in his head and ringing in his ears were like a coarse lullaby, rocking him to sleep with convulsing promises of bloody nightmares and too many ‘what-could-have-been’s. 

The silence stretched on for as long as Maggie could manage, to where Rick actually fell into a false sense of security that that was the end of it, but eventually Maggie sat down next to him and cleared her throat.

“Ya know,” she started, seeming so much like her daddy in this slow-winding moment. “I used ta get so mad at Glenn every time he’d do something outrageously stupid.” 

“Oh yeah?” Rick prompted, already having a feeling of where this was going.

“Like when he went down that awful well of ours to wrangle that walker fer everyone, you remember?” Maggie was laughing about it now, but Rick remembered. She had been furious at the time, and stormed off into their farmhouse after the grisly scene while Glenn held his head proudly and wore an oblivious, foolhardy grin. 

“I remember,” chuckled Rick.

“Or when he went runnin’ off fer those damned ‘morning after’ pills fer Lori,” she said, laughter dying slowly as she grew pensive. “That dope… Always acting a tool. Even fer that woman’s dirty laundry.” Maggie turned to him quickly, saying, “No offense.”

Rick raised his hands neutrally, fighting off the twinges of emotion at the memory of that day. “None taken.” Lori’s crying eyes, her begging hands, her ‘dirty laundry’.

Maggie resumed when Rick remained silent, drawing her legs up to wrap her arms around and making her look fragile while she spoke in remembrance. “Every time he’d risk his life, whatever the cause, I’d just… I’d lose it. I remember being so angry that he’d just stick his neck out like that. I wouldn’t talk to him for days and I’d just stay inside, pouting all by my lonesome.” 

“Poor guy had no idea how to take it, neither,” Rick mused as he thought back to Maggie’s cold shoulder and Glenn’s desperate puppy dog eyes, tailing after her like a lost duckling. 

Laughing again, Maggie ran her hands down her face sheepishly. “Yeah, I wasn’t the warmest person when I was riled.”

“ _Wasn’t?_ ”

“Okay, _ain’t_ ,” conceded Maggie with a playful shove of Rick’s good arm. They laughed together for a bit, warm and familiar and everything but bloody and miserable in that moment. Maggie eventually quieted again with her tentative sympathy and looked up at Rick meaningfully. “I guess I just… needed space to calm down s'all. Reckon that’s just what happens when ya adore someone that much. Yer heart stops working in time with yer brain, gotta give ‘em time to come together.”

That sent Rick into a blushing, sputtering mess that he thought he’d grown out of years ago, looking away quickly to hide his reaction. “It ain’t… Daryl isn’t like that.”

“Wanna put yer money where yer mouth is?” Maggie grinned devilishly with all the confidence in the world, and for a lovely, sickening moment, Rick’s heart lunged at the idea that she knew something he didn’t. She was waiting for him to answer, though, and all the faith in the world wasn’t enough for Rick to get ahead of himself when it came to Daryl, so he politely shook his head.

“I’m not a bettin’ man,” he replied lamely, fingers fidgeting with the bedspread as Maggie’s smile fell. 

“Well, I’m good fer a gamble,” announced Maggie as she stood up and grabbed Hershel’s veterinary kit with a flourish. Rick watched her with dizzying butterflies in his heart as she stepped towards the hallway with a wave and ended by cheekily informing him, “And I think I’ve got pretty good odds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured today was the best day to post this, which means I didn't get to edit this as much as I usually do, but I hope you all think they're still in character. Happy April Fool's!


	21. Frost

.:Frost:.

 

When Rick finally came to, he blinked awake lazily, not quite remembering falling asleep in the first place and wincing when the throbbing pain hit him full on. Like a freight train, he was thrust from sleep with the arduous memory of it all and groaned heavily, feeling sore all over from the peril. The walkers, the surgery, the confession, it was all too much to handle with this foggy headache and aching body, and when he turned over, Rick’s heart skipped a beat with tentative, epicurean joy at the sight of two small pills on his nightstand.

 

Pain killers. 

 

Whatever beautiful serendipity this could be was tabled for later inspection as Rick reached out to them and swallowed them dry. With all of his accidents lately, Rick mentally catalogued aspirin on his list of runs piling up and weighing him down wearily. 

 

They went down, sticky and reluctant in his dry throat, as Rick sat up with aching muscles and creaking bones, grunting when the world shifted haphazardly worse than his previous hangover. At the foot of his bed, a small pile of folded clothes toppled to the ground messily from his movement, reminding him of his current state being tattered and bloodied. 

 

Slowly, Rick managed to heave his ravaged clothing from his body until he stood nearly naked, tallying his ever-increasing number of scars since that last day alive in the mortal world so long ago. His old life was laid to rest by a resounding shotgun shell, and when Rick finally awoke again, he was reborn into a world where scars were just a badge of vestige. The apex survivor, besting natural selection yet again with a puckered white token of skittish bravado and a faster trigger finger. A rite of passage from father to bleeding son, pale and dying in his burning arms and baptized all over in fear and anguish. 

 

If anything, Rick couldn’t say that he had nothing to show for his struggles. 

 

As he dressed, Rick added ‘curtains’ to the list beneath ‘aspirin’ and ‘ammo’, and vaguely wondered what time it was and how long he had slept for. Kicking his discarded ratty clothes to the corner, he headed out of his cell and absently palmed his hair into something orderly to find the dining area nearly empty. 

Maggie sat at the table with Judith in her lap and cranberry-smeared goose on her plate, and turned at the sound of Rick’s approach, humoring his baby girl and smiling up at him. “Mornin’.”

 

“Is it?” Rick asked groggily, looking around for the others. For a moment, Rick worried that he might’ve slept through the entire rest of the day, something he couldn’t afford with so much to do, and felt his heart rate swell into vigilance. 

 

“Sun just set,” she hummed, bouncing Judith on her knees.

 

Rick nodded vapidly, attention lulling, and took a seat across the table from them, still adjusting to the newly paint-colored walls stained bright with stick-figure varnish and acrylic memories. Judith scrunched her face happily when she saw her daddy, but Rick tucked his face into his hands and rubbed at his eyes with his palms to help dull the ache. 

 

“You look like hell,” noted Maggie playfully, and Rick might’ve rolled his eyes at that if it wouldn’t hurt to open them so much.

 

“‘Appreciate it.”

 

Maggie laughed at his dry response and pushed her food towards him, making Rick finally open his eyes to look up at her questioningly. She was playing with Judith, not seeming to mind the look of doubt all over Rick’s face one bit, and Rick opened his mouth to decline it politely. It wasn’t in his nature to take food from others, not one bit, and he’d sooner hand over a dozen plates of his own than take one from someone else, but Maggie stopped him.

 

“Eat it,” she said. “Otherwise it’ll just go to waste. Judith won’t let me take a bite without trying to cover me in it.”

 

Rick thanked her and tentatively pulled the plate closer, still having reservations but knowing full well that Maggie meant what she said. While he finished off the day-old goose, Rick’s throbbing head muted pleasantly and it reminded him of the pills she left on his nightstand earlier. 

 

“And thanks,” Rick started, catching her attention again. “Fer the pills. They helped loads.”

 

Maggie paused at that, turning to him and furrowing her brow as if Rick just spoke in frivolous tongues and didn’t realize it, before shaking her head slightly, “What pills are ya talking about, Rick?”

 

Swallowing the remnants of the cranberry sauce, Rick felt like he already knew what Maggie was going to say but reaffirmed himself anyway, hoping maybe he could jog her memory into admitting to this whether or not she was the actual culprit. “The aspirin you left on my nightstand earlier.”

 

“Rick, I didn’t…” Maggie trailed off at the sound of others entering the building noisily, but the confused shake of her head spoke volumes to Rick.

 

Before Rick could say anything, could come up with any other reason for the painkillers presence on his bedside table, Daryl entered the room, covered in frost and followed by Glenn and Axel. Daryl’s sharp eyes immediately found Rick and scoured over him, glancing at the wound as if to ascertain that he wasn’t still bleeding to death, before turning back to the men’s conversation. Rick swallowed again, feeling for the life of him as though he were just stripped naked and brushed off with countered concern, pointedly ignoring the devious smile blossoming on Maggie’s impish face.

 

“Shame yer not a gamblin’ man,” she whispered to him as she handed him Judith and joined Glenn’s hand with hers. 

 

It dawned on Rick the last time he had found pills at the side of his bed, and glanced at Daryl again fast enough to catch him looking away, bottom lip between his teeth. The men talked amongst themselves a bit more, eager and anxious, while Rick listened in about a run they were planning for tomorrow. Instead of finding game earlier while Rick had slept, Daryl had found an old abandoned woodsman’s hovel a few miles out south of the prison. 

 

“What makes ya so sure we’ll find anything there?” Axel questioned skeptically.

 

“Me ‘n Merle,” started Daryl, voice patient for how much he hated being doubted. “We used ta stash anything we wanted to keep hidden out in the woods, ‘n some dingy-ass shanty we’d make whenever things got bad.”

 

That same sympathetic silence filled the atmosphere, and Daryl’s scowl deepened as he moved on from it, not giving them the chance to pity him for one thing or another. “Booze, rations, guns if know rednecks.” When Axel still looked unconvinced, Daryl’s already chafed patience ran thin and he scrunched his face into a Dixon glare with that conscripted Dixon contempt, saying, “But if yer gonna be a pussy ‘bout it, then we’ll just take Maggie.”

 

Daryl’s clipped tone seemed to settle Axel’s mind and no more questions were asked, until Rick stepped forward with Judith and cleared his throat.

 

“Mind if I tag along, fellas?”

 

A stillness fell upon the group, some tectonic shift between Rick and Daryl once their natural-born leader asked their self-appointed second in command for tacit permission, and the group looked between the two tensely. Daryl faced Rick with an unreadable look flitting between Rick’s shoulder and Rick’s daughter, some protective air about him turned nonchalant with a lackadaisical shrug in front of their audience.

 

“Car’s full.”

 

Rick clenched his jaw at the blatant rejection, not expecting the flat defiance from his only loyal companion, and most certainly not in the face of others. It made Rick bellicose at best and pushed him to stand his ground.

 

“I only see three of you rarin’ to go,” Rick pointed out flatly, noticing everyone else shying away from their cordial turmoil.

 

Daryl turned away when he answered, neck tense and voice dripping with sheer malarkey filtered through his teeth, as if he were embarrassed to continue in their present company. “Oscar was wantin’ ta go. It ain’t up ta me.” 

 

Shifting uncomfortably, Maggie took Glenn by the hand and Axel by the arm, conveniently offering to help them prepare for their run tomorrow while dragging them away. Rick was too riled to offer her any gratitude, instead focusing on Daryl and bouncing Judith in his arms to release some of the buzzing current boldly radiating through him.

 

“That’s bullshit ‘n you know it, Daryl,” spoke Rick darkly.

 

The other man turned around, pleading and imploring that they not do this now, that he not have to explain himself this time. But Rick needed this, needed something, and stared Daryl in the eyes as he waited with a clenched jaw and crinkled brow.

 

“Rick,” Daryl started, “It’s a few miles hike, man, at least. It’s gonna be a day’s -- ”

 

“I can handle it,” he asserted, causing Judith to fuss at his tone, which he rocked her gently for, trying to settle at least one of them.

 

Daryl’s eyes flickered between him and Judith, squirming under the conflict like he’d sooner run than keep on with this, but stayed rooted to the ground with nervous fidgeting and strewn sentences. “Ya still need ta heal up, ya need -- ”

 

“I’m fine,” Rick cut him off again, not wanting to hear this continuous rambling crap cleaned up to look presentable and force fed to him. Daryl had to know that he knew him better than that, and dug for the painful notion that haunted and gnawed at Rick’s subconscious. “You don’t think I’m capable, do you?”

 

“Yes -- no!” Daryl shook his head desperately, clearly unsure of how to answer that, grasping for some semblance of propriety.

 

Rick was losing his patience and came in close, stepping into Daryl’s space to bring them together with a sense of insistence. “You wanna tell me what this is really about, Daryl? Or am I gonna have ta keep -- ”

 

“I can’t lose you!” This time, it was Daryl’s interruption that left Rick silent, the truth finally surfacing in a bubbling voltage that left Rick stunned. “I can’t…” Daryl swallowed and looked away before continuing, much too vulnerable to maintain eye contact and looking guilty for his next stammering words. “I can’t do that again, Rick.” Still floored, Rick could barely manage the wriggling, moody baby against him, and didn’t resist when Daryl reached into his arms for her. “N’ Judy, she still needs her daddy. They can’t lose both their parents.”

 

It was almost a non sequitur of sorts, taking Daryl out of the equation of his sudden outburst and backpedaling as he nuzzled the simmering Judith, who hiccupped and mewled at his attention.

 

Watching them distract themselves with each other, Rick mutedly conceded, unhappy with the outcome but not willing to press Daryl further just to assert his own dominance. He wanted to establish that he could do it, that he could take care of himself without Daryl having to watch his back, but knew when to pick his fights and nodded passively.

 

“Fine,” Daryl looked up at his answer with a blossoming smile, small and genuine, and Rick couldn’t regret his decision much after that, though he did firmly add, “But ya can’t expect me to just stay back like some domestic housewife forever.”

 

Rick took Judith back, reluctantly impressed by Daryl’s latent ability to soothe his children, as if affecting the Grimes was in Daryl’s genes, and cradled her in his arms gently. Daryl thanked him with that small smile that twinged pleasantly at Rick’s heart and retreated back to his room after squeezing Rick on the hip affectionately. It sent thrilling tendrils up Rick’s stomach to his hammering heart, but Maggie’s words roared in Rick’s ears, keeping him from pursuing further. Giving the other man space is what Maggie advised, and hell if any of his tactics thus far were working.

~~~~~

By the time the group left the next day, Rick had already amassed a set of newly kindled nerves, live and agitated as his friends drove off in the pickup truck. He saw them off and got to work on their bare garden, moving slowly and wincing when the sweat got into his stitches. The snowfall was just enough to coat the ground and dampen the soil, making it thick to till and strenuous to plow until eventually Carl came out to help. By the end of it hours later, Rick’s muscles were sore and aching and he desperately wanted a hot shower to relieve it all, but decided against it when he saw his son shivering pink. 

 

“Why dontcha get cleaned up, son?” Rick offered, nodding towards the prison. Carl obliged, taking his hat off to run a dirty hand through his sweaty hair, and parted ways with Rick calling after him, “Just make it quick!”

 

With the yardwork done and their meager garden looking promising, Rick wiped his brow and headed towards the guard tower, too restless to wait inside and too achy to keep working. Beth was on watch when Rick lifted the hatch and smiled at him sweetly, perched in the chair with the rifle in her lap. Her eyes lit up when she saw him and she tilted her head in confusion. 

 

“Hey,” she greeted lightly. “Somethin’ wrong?”

 

Rick shook his head and clambered through, saying, “Figured I’d give you a break and take over.”

 

Beth smiled again and shrugged her thin shoulder, looking pale and pretty in the bright afternoon sun. “Don’t think I can keep watch, huh?”

 

Chuckling, Rick scooted the other chair over and took a seat next to her, feeling his body buckle as he relaxed with a heavy sigh. “I ain’t sayin’ that. Just thought you might wanna go hang out with Carl instead.”

 

She scoffed at that, smile faltering as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah right. All he ever wants to do is kill walkers and read comics.”

 

“Is that so?” Rick smiled and looked at her, amused by her apocalyptic frustrations and found himself grateful that boredom was the worst of her worries right now. Tedious monotony was always an ailment of teenagers, far before the world ended, but the fact that they could feel that above fear and famine gave Rick a sense of accomplishment. “And what do you want to do?”

 

With a faint blush dusting her cheeks, Beth shrugged as if she wasn’t prepared for that question. “I don’t know. I used to play the piano back at home. Maybe learning a new instrument would be fun, or… or, jeez, I don’t know, Scrabble? Just something other than blood and guts all day.”

 

Rick was grinning at her, storing away ‘puzzles’ and ‘board games’ right beneath ‘artillery’ and ‘munitions’. She innocently reminded him of how important it was to still drive to create in a time of death and destruction, that humanity could still be found beneath the muck and gore of their lives. Promising to keep an eye out for any stray grand pianos, Rick was happy for their time together, rare as it was, until eventually Beth withdrew from the guard tower, leaving behind her thanks.

 

The sun was closing in on the horizon, inching towards it to fade into dusk by the time the men came back, truck engine revving and flatbed filled with white trash bags. Rick quickly slid down the ladder to give them entrance, scanning them twice over for signs of any trouble, but they were all grinning at him as Daryl pulled the Ford into camp and shut it down.

 

“Thank God for rednecks,” Glenn cheered as he hopped out of the vehicle.

 

Daryl was smirking proudly as he tugged open the bed of the truck, hauling out one of the lumpy bags and pulling it open for Rick’s eyes. “Called it,” exulted Daryl, watching Rick’s reaction expectantly as he counted the numerous guns within the bag. “There’s eight in all, ‘n plenty of ammo fer ‘em. I know a Daytona shithole when I see one. Even had some MRE’s with ‘em, handy bastards.”

 

He quickly grabbed another bag from the truck and drew out a small packaged ration, handing it to Rick like a child awaiting praise for some hand drawn vignette.

 

“Nice work, Daryl. All of you.” Rick smiled brightly at them, but turned back to Daryl and squeezed his shoulder warmly as he seized one of the bags from the truck and brought it inside, followed by everyone else.

 

Fortune had been charitable long enough that everyone was eager to chance it again, antsy for their next break and indulgent in the rare altruism of lady luck. Armed to the teeth with new guns and fresh zeal, the group was awash in a happy confidence unclouded by the usual dread of living. Having a home, a foundation to anchor them and work towards, gave them something worth living for instead of something simply just fighting against. Looming death creeping in every dark corner was easier to forget when the walls were painted with a golden hope to illuminate the shadows.

 

Daryl was back from his second hunt that week, some effusive drive to fill their bellies before winter fully hit spurring him on and out of the confines of the prison, lest he be in one place for too long, too near and too far from Rick all the same. It was maddening. So when the next opportunity inevitably made itself known, sweaty and statuesque and smirking roguishly, Rick couldn’t help the flood of anticipation.

 

“Rick,” Daryl caught his attention, summoning him and motioning towards the administration office silently. Towards somewhere private, Rick's thudding heart urged.

 

It had been over a week since Thanksgiving -- a week worth of stirring dreams and bedside tissues since Daryl had let Rick that close. And ever since, Rick nervously kept his distance, but now his heart was spiking with the sense that this was it, this was the verdict to end all questioning. Hope was a painful, dizzying thing, and Rick prayed he didn’t show it.

 

“What’s up, Daryl?” Proud that his voice didn’t shake, Rick shoved his hands in his pocket to keep them just as still. The administration room was dusty and old, only ever cleaned when Carol could be bothered by it, and filled with a clutter Rick couldn’t mind at the moment. Not with Daryl so close and intentionally alone.

 

“Gonna head out tomorrow,” Daryl spoke tenebrously, and Rick felt that hope cleave him.

 

“But you just got back,” protested Rick, ignoring his bleeding longing retreating back into its hollowed shelter. “Between the rabbits yesterday ‘n the MREs, you’ve done good by us, Daryl. You don’t need to keep…”

 

Rick shrugged helplessly, feeling too much riding on these next words that he tried to scrape clean their insinuations and swallow down like a bitter pill. 

 

“Walkin’ out.”

 

Daryl was looking at him now, too perceptive for Rick’s own good, and looked as if he could taste Rick’s bitterness with softening features. “Found a car, though,” he said, blindsiding Rick. His face must’ve looked it, because Daryl added, “Fer Glenn,” for good measure, as if that settled everything. 

 

It took just a moment for Rick to recall that lingering guilt of wrecking Glenn’s favorite car, his beloved Camaro, and the weighing responsibility of finding the man another one after Rick left it for dead. It was likely too rotted and rusted to salvage with all of the bloody, decrepit body parts mangling the engine, and that was only if they could get past all of the walkers locked away with it. And considering the first promise Rick had made to Glenn over a year ago, when the younger man was forced to sacrifice his ride for the RV, Rick’s sense of duty was damn near tangible.

 

“Yeah?” Rick questioned, feeling that jittery energy fluttering to life in his stomach, noisy and irritating. “Where at?”

 

“It’s a few miles up the interstate, outside of Newnan. Won’t even take a quarter tank of gas.” By now, Daryl was fidgeting with his belt loops, as if he were nervous for Rick’s response, and continued, “Was gonna take Carol, but I uh… I figured ya’d wanna make the call. Thought it’d be more… fitting.”

 

Daryl was grabbing for words now, anything to explain himself with his usual air of pseudo apathy and nonchalance, and Rick couldn’t keep the smile from his face at it. These past few days were spent pacing about like a caged bird, watching his loved ones leave the fence at dawn and return with jubilant success, and instead tilling the fields until his muscles ached and his hands blistered. Inside, Rick was stirring with restlessness, on edge from having to wait around like a liability until his stitches were removed, tired of feeling like a burden and ready to settle this matter however he needed to. Rick was so sure that Daryl thought he couldn’t handle it, that Rick was just going to screw things up again, and was ready to dispute it beyond question.

 

But Daryl had beaten him to it.

 

“S’pose I’d like that,” Rick was grinning now, putting both himself and Daryl at ease. “When were ya wanting ta leave?”

 

It was late in the day, not normally a time when they’d leave the prison, and three members of their group were already out on a supply run, but Daryl insisted that they do it now. “Still got some daylight left,” shrugged Daryl, finding Rick’s eyes with a pointed look. “N’ a car like that won’t last long, neither.”

 

His words eerily reminded Rick of the chilling strangers they had run into a while ago and realized what Daryl was hinting at, and where this sense of urgency was coming from. “Yer right. I’ll go gear up. Think we’ll be in n’ out before sunset?”

 

Daryl smirked at him, ready and waiting with the resounding demeanor of a man with imposing power who’s finally come to a decision. “Think there’s only one way ta find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's twice this year that I've been without a computer, what kind of computer karma hell have I wrought? Can my cosmic quota of machine death be filled and over with for this lifetime? I'm so sorry it's taken me two months to update this -- I promise I haven't tapped out on it, not by a long shot. This embarrassing teaser is only half of a chapter, but I wasn't able to salvage the rest of it from my old hard drive, and figured I'd at least post this while starting from scratch on the rest. Let's blow the dust off this, yeah? If you're reading this, I'm truly touched that you haven't forgotten about me, but also thank god for bookmark updates, amiright?


	22. Warmth

.:Warmth:.

The two men were in their remaining car in minutes flat, geared up and raring to go with some mutual boyish nerve spurring them out the gate with winged feet and cheeky smirks. There was a common ground here, the first in a long while, of two men coalescing together in a reciprocated need and respect of one another. A band of brothers forged through hell, two Alpha males nodding to one another, Rick needing Daryl and reveling in the fact that here, now, Daryl needed Rick just as much.

 

As Daryl hit the highway, they settled into a respectful silence, remembering what it was like to feel so close and companionable again, warming back up to each other tentatively. The calm was mutual, a gentle feel of the other man’s presence, tattered and beseeching like puzzle pieces worn around the edges, until eventually Rick dared to test the murky waters.

 

Hesitantly, Rick cupped his own hands together and lifted them to his lips, gauging the hunter’s reaction out of the corner of his eyes, before blowing against his thumbs.

 

_Koo, koo. Kooooo._

 

It was the same falsetto, purring noise that Daryl had tried to teach him so long ago, this mating call that sounded more like a dying cat in Rick’s hands than any kind of supple trill. Still, though, with the little bit of practice he had while taking breaks from gardening this past week, it was far more discernable than his first attempt.

 

Daryl’s eyes were wide and his mouth was parted with apparent shock, and he slowly released the sudden tension in his body as he glanced over at Rick with scarce composure.

 

“Huntin’ toms?”

 

“Somethin’ like that,” Rick smirked at him around his thumb knuckles, eyes sparkling playfully as he attempted the sound again, this time more recognizable and leaden with confidence. Daryl looked back towards the road, hands tighter around the wheel despite his easy shrug in response.

 

“What can I say?” chuckled Daryl softly, making Rick stir at the noise. “Yer gettin’ good.”

 

“Wasn’t so hard with a little bit of practice,” Rick tried the noise again, quieter this time, before lowering his hands and continuing, tentatively, “Helped having a good teacher, too.”

 

Daryl was clearly fidgeting under Rick’s praise, but accepted it silently and nodded anyway, leaving them to silence once more when he didn’t seem to know what to say to Rick’s appreciation. Minutes later, however, it was Daryl who broke the silence to try again, venturing out of the comfort of solitude to turn to Rick and say, “Man, just wait ‘til ya see this car.”

 

“Yeah?” urged Rick with raised eyebrows, simply happy for Daryl’s effort.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded enthusiastically, feeding into Rick’s attention now. “The look on that kid’s face’ll be priceless, betchya anything.”

 

“We gotta get it to him first, ‘fore we start making any wagers.” Rick absently thought back to Maggie’s earlier bet and questioned if it wasn’t at least tempting to be a gambling man. “You sure this thing’ll run?”

 

The hunter nodded with assurance, clarifying how he had already started it back when he first found it, and Rick sat back as he spoke, happy to just sit and listen to Daryl. “Reckon if we can’t start it, we can always go back for that Dodge Neon,” joked Rick when Daryl finished explaining.

 

The sneer on Daryl’s face was predictable as he said, “Like hell. Even if that thing ran, I wouldn’t want it.”

 

Chuckling, Rick shrugged and watched out the window, thinking back to that night affectionately. “I dunno, guess it kinda grew on me.” When Daryl snorted, Rick turned to look at him with a wide grin on his face as if they shared some secret inside joke meant for their ears only. It was a thing of exclusion, a coterie of two men whose time alone together could never be replaced. “Made a nice bed, at least.”

 

“Then yer taste in beds are about as crazy as yer taste in women,” Daryl muttered quietly before freezing up, as if he didn’t mean for Rick to know those inner thoughts and was preparing for the moment to be rightfully ruined.

 

Rick laughed, however, feeling at ease in this sort of conversation that didn’t beg any particular question, as much as that question was constantly at the forefront of Rick’s mind, and Daryl visibly relaxed. Light banter about cars or girls felt like familiar territory, terrain that Rick had crossed with Shane a thousand times over until the tread became second nature to him. It was welcomed and invigorating, and Rick peered over at Daryl with smiling eyes before he remembered something that had nagged at Rick’s dreams. It plagued his subconscious, that dark place where Rick wouldn’t shine light in fear of what was really hidden. But this was something Rick had turned over and over, blindly inspecting every inch to the point of over-analysis, and Rick needed to know, lest he go insane.

 

“I been meanin’ to ask ya,” he started slowly, taking a deep breath to summon the words. Daryl watched him with interest in the rearview mirror, sharp eyes reflecting hesitant curiosity and reserved astuteness. “That night, back in the Neon…” Rick trailed off, suddenly feeling very reserved about how to bring up such a strange, sensitive issue to this strange, sensitive man who was quick to throw both his defenses and his fists.

 

“What about it?” Daryl prompted with an impatient, clipped tone when Rick took too long to continue.

 

“You said something – I mean, we both were pretty, uhh –” Faltering, Rick bit his cheek before realizing there was no good way to go about this other than being direct. Pussyfooting around was never a strong suit of Rick’s, especially when faced with a delicate problem. “Did I hear you right, that you’ve never had a girlfriend?”

 

Daryl was, understandably, tense at Rick’s question, and Rick watched a slew of soft reactions flit across the younger man’s adamant face: surprise that Rick would ask such a question, or that he would even remember in the first place, confusion as to why it would matter at all, mortification from the fact that they were doing this, here, now, ever. Rick watched, breath bated on Daryl’s next words, and was grateful that he could read the hunter like some impermissible book, but was nervous of what the fine print entailed.

 

“Is that a problem?”

 

Rick had anticipated Daryl to be quick to fall back to his harsh defenses, and quite frankly didn’t know what else he had expected by opening this taboo box, forbidden and tantalizing all the more because of it. But he shook his head and kept his voice light when he answered, knowing full well that Daryl might sooner drive off a cliff before continuing this discussion.

 

“Well, no, but… I can’t say I ever took you fer the wholesome type.” Even as the words left his mouth, Rick felt himself cringing at the blatant assumption, stark and bare in the vibrating ether between them.

 

Daryl’s face was unreadable, and the more Rick thought about it, the more he realized just how ill-fitting that assumption was of Daryl. The younger man was nothing if not reserved, sometimes seeming to avoid people at all costs and treating physical contact like a third-degree burn and personal insult.

 

Like his stony features, Daryl’s voice was equally indecipherable. “Thought I was some tramp or somethin’, then?”

 

Rick shook his head, trying to think of how to explain himself without putting Daryl off any further – this really wasn’t how Rick wanted the conversation to go. “Not one bit. I just figured, what with the whole aloof bad boy thing ya got goin’… I woulda thought chicks’d be into that whole thug appeal s’all.” These were words Shane had told him like a precious mantra his whole life, that chicks dig the bad boys, the douchebags, the mavericks. If he’d just strut the right way, smirk the right way, screw the right way, then Rick could live the life Shane was trying to carve for him. Find a smolder that could look right through a woman, and she’d be begging for his attention like a starving dog, Reverend Shane would preach. A lifelong sermon, and yet Rick never found that he could look through anybody.

 

Maybe that’s why Daryl was so crystal clear to him when he was so invisible to the rest of the world.

 

“So now I’m a criminal?” Daryl scoffed as he drove, and Rick felt ashamed all over for parroting Shane’s atrocious scripture to him, but realized immediately what Daryl was doing. Deflections, one after another, in order to sidestep Rick’s earlier question in some defense mechanism of avoidance, though it did nothing to settle Rick’s prickly nerves as he tried to right this.

 

“Daryl,” started Rick firmly, “If you don’t wanna talk about this, that’s fine, but don’t go twisting my words. I never thought of you as some delinquent who gets around or anything, but a virgin…”

 

Rick trailed off for a moment, but Daryl didn’t miss a beat. “Never said I was a virgin.”

 

Cheeks surprisingly hot, Rick felt something stirring in him, something undecipherable yet undeniable that he tried to keep under lock and key like a swarm of hungry bees, irrational and devouring. His thoughts were jumbled as he quickly shuffled through their conversation, brows knitted tight as he murmured, “But I thought you said…”

 

“Ain’t never had a girl on my arm ta worry about, but I ain’t no greenhorn in the sack, neither.” Daryl’s tone was neither bragging nor abashed, simply matter of fact as he stared out the windshield distractedly, unaware of the humming energy consuming his companion. “It just…” pausing, Daryl shrugged. “Had ta happen.”

 

There was a hiccup in Rick’s angry bevy as it absorbed Daryl’s words, pausing for a moment to search for the shaded meaning hidden behind them. “What do you mean by that?”

 

“By what?” Daryl glanced over at Rick, seeming to catch on to his thick timbre.

 

“’It had to happen’.”

 

Daryl’s eyes flickered to Rick’s, uncomfortable and dubious as though this were a thing he’d never had to explain before, like after a lifetime of living this way, he was never once allowed to consider ‘why’. It was just common sense drilled into him by now, Rick speculated, as unquestionable as Reverend Shane's daily sermon. His Adam’s apple bobbed to fit around the words with a strained indifference and said, “Can’t be a pussy forever, ya know?”

 

_Everyone has molds to fill._

 

“Had ta happen sometime.”

 

_Roles to play._

 

“It was fer the best.”

 

_People to be._

 

Rick’s jaw clenched at Daryl’s recited words, notions he knew all too well and expectations that he hated fulfilling. It was a sick world even before the sick rose, and Rick had first-hand experience with the shaping weight of loved ones’ ideals and crushing disappointment if one measly hair or virtue was out of place. There was always a function to be had in the old realm, some societal duty suppressing those who tried to rise above it, so it wasn’t surprising that Daryl still held to his looming design. And yet, rationale be damned, Rick couldn’t keep the hard edge from his voice at this mold, crafted with a brutal heavy-hand and made forcefully, lovingly, for his friend. “That really what you think, Daryl?”

 

“It ain’t about what I think,” Daryl’s response was arresting again. “S’ about how it is.”

 

“Says who?” challenged Rick.

 

“The hell are you talking about?” Jagged eyes darted to his, cut thin and alight with warning, and Rick knew he was traversing malcontented grounds, guarded as dangerous, unexplored territory.

 

But Rick was familiar enough with the contours of these molds, and confidently dared entrance. “Someone had to tell you that. Was it Merle?”

 

“Leave him outta this.” It wasn't entirely unexpected when Daryl started to close up, wall off his vulnerable inner core, shield the tender heart he would expose only to Rick, and only under perfect conditions, far beyond now. A scowl deepened Daryl’s features at the name of his bygone brother, and Rick could feel the other’s titanic fight-or-flight instinct creeping into the tension between them.

 

“It was, wasn’t it?” Rick then coaxed with a gentler note threaded with mercy, needing this coming to Jesus of sorts from Daryl for too many reasons.

 

That compassion in Rick’s voice, his face, his hand reaching out to soothe him, seemed to rend Daryl, wrenching his scowl into a pained feature as he delved into that uncharted vastness with a shaky voice. “It wasn’t his fault, alright? Our old man, that sum’bitch really had it out fer us. Merle was just tryin’ ta look out fer me.”

 

“By making you sleep with women?”

 

Rick’s voice was momentarily incredulous, and that seemed to bristle Daryl’s tender quills once more. “By makin’ me man the hell up. Romance ‘n necking n’ all that girly shit, s’ the kind of queer stuff that’d get our asses beat, so I just…” Daryl swallowed thickly. “Never did.”

 

There was silence after that, brittle and wandering from one halting feeling to another, all clamoring in Rick’s heart for purchase. But before Rick could settle on any one thing, Daryl motioned towards the road with a nod and a smirk, towards an area off the pavement and in the undergrowth. Covered in foliage debris was a glint of metal that glimmered dusty red in the sunset, and Daryl started coasting gently on the break to meet it. From what Rick could make of the body, it was stunning, impractical, and everything Glenn could want in a car.

 

Glenn would love the shoddy old Torino for sure, still ostentatious in the ruin of its former glory, but there was something far more pressing on Rick’s mind.

 

“That ain’t the case anymore, Daryl,” Rick dared to speak, voice low and hushed.

 

Daryl bit his lip, contemplative, and soon everything was squeezed out of existence to make way for the growing swell of yearning cascading through Rick like a torrid ripple of impulse. All he could register was that now, in this life, it wasn’t the case anymore to fit into civil roles – not for him, not for Daryl, not ever again. It was that very notion that angled Rick inwards, tilting his chin up and towards the other man in a moment of mindless self-indulgence.

 

When their skin connected, it was criminal. The touch of Daryl’s face on his, warm and intimate, had Rick unable to remember why he didn’t simply lean in months earlier.

 

As Daryl turned his head towards him, stubble sliding against Rick’s cheek in surprise, Rick couldn’t remember exactly how to move, how to breathe, when he felt the other man’s parted lips slide against his own. Rick was stunned by his own bravado and the sensation of Daryl’s lips, feather light and all too brief when Daryl jolted away and, in doing so, jerked the wheel and slammed on the brakes in shock.

 

Daryl’s face was cardinal red and his fingertips touched his lips incredulously, looking stunned as if he’d nearly overdosed on lightning, but quickly covered it with blushing bluster. “You trying ta kill me?”

 

His nervous glare hit Rick right in the euphoria, the floating frenzy of his heart and mind being pierced by Daryl’s scared eyes sharpened into points. It felt like enough to kill a man, yet another stamp on his time meter soul with the bruise of each milestone tally. Rick set his mouth, still tingling with ecstasy, into a hard line as he clenched his jaw to anchor himself against the torrent of more rejection. He was some kind of blissful masochist, wanting to give Daryl a good first Thanksgiving, a good first kiss, a good new life. But it was agonizing, struggling against this broken, shattered wall of nails and glass Daryl carved for his defenses.

 

“Figured I’d show you what that ‘girly stuff’ you missed out on was all about,” came Rick’s jaded response, hollow even from his own ears. 

 

Would he ever stop being this beast of burden?

 

“Thought, maybe, at least yer first kiss could be with someone who actually gives a damn about you.” Rick might’ve seen Daryl’s face change, open drastically in some healing hurt at Rick’s words, but he could hardly see past the hurricane of stinging glass and tears.

 

Why was he still doing this?

 

“Ya know what?” he spoke as he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door. “Just – do me a favor ‘n forget it.”

 

Daryl might’ve called after him, might have even tried to grab for him, but Rick was already out the passenger side and heading towards the abandoned Ford Torino before he could bother to look back. It hit him that he didn’t actually know how to hotwire a car, but he’d sooner take his chances jump starting a cold machine than a hardheaded Dixon. He heard Daryl cut the engine behind him before he slammed the driver side door and he wondered just what in the hell Daryl had to be pissed off about. The kiss?

 

“Rick, wait. Goddammit,” Daryl called out to him, cursing when he went ignored. Quite frankly, Rick didn’t know if he could keep his mouth shut right now, saturated whole in pain and rejection too many times, but then he felt Daryl’s hands on him and it was irritatingly breathtaking.

 

“Wouldja just listen?” Rick let Daryl roughly turn him around so they were face to face, and his hard features were lined with something desperate and pleading as he stared Rick in the eyes. “Fer Christ’s sake, man, I’ve never done any of this ‘fore. I’m just gonna…” Daryl stopped and took a breath like saying this was breaking his heart. His eyes were wild and anxious, but for what, Rick couldn’t tell. “M’ gonna screw this up, Rick.”

 

Rick felt a winded laugh blowing through his tumbleweed heart as he stared back, too well acquainted with that vulnerable insecurity falling from Daryl’s lips to sympathize at the moment. “You think yer the only one scared shitless here?” His voice held a bitter humor to it, a travesty of his own bleeding confidence that gave Daryl pause, but only bolstered Rick’s insistent admittance. “I had fourteen _years_ and still managed to screw up my marriage. I have no idea what I’m doing either, Daryl, but I still want to try.”

 

“Rick…” Daryl mewled his name and it burned something fierce in him. This wasn’t happening again, this back and forth between addictive affection and stinging rejection, Rick couldn’t bear it.

 

“But if I’m the only one willing to give this a shot,” Rick was already withdrawing, pulling away from Daryl and finally driving that condemning nail into the coffin. “Then just… Let’s leave this alone already.” His voice was flat and his eyes were everywhere but Daryl’s, feeling too much, too muted, to feel strongly about anything anymore.

 

Daryl’s hands were bare and clenching, looking helplessly lost without Rick within them and Rick could only feel something cruelly ironic in the abandoned dimness reflected back to him. The younger man looked like the floor had been swept up from beneath him, pitching him out and beyond the safety net he had come to depend on, and for a moment Rick felt like a monster. The security blanket was slipping away from them both, gliding like tattered silk swathing its goodbyes over them, until Daryl bit his lip and made a mad grasp for the frayed fringe of it. His hands found Rick’s body once more, resolute like they regretted ever letting go, and sternly wrenched him closer until nothing more could be done.

 

His hands on him, his body, his mouth, all came crashing through Rick’s anguish like a stallion with restraints no longer holding him back. It was desperate, trying to say too much against Rick’s lips at once and absolutely needing to be heard above their tremoring hearts. It was assertive, Daryl’s hands bruising Rick’s skin lovingly in a terrified padlock, fastening their mouths together roughly. It was messy, all the coordination of a first kiss clacking their teeth together and sending jolts of reality down Rick’s spine.

 

It was the best kiss Rick ever had.

 

And it was over far too soon.

 

Daryl’s mouth was pressed to his hard and firm, as aggressive as the man himself and far more gratifying than Rick had ever imagined. It was short, powerful, like a promise of something they didn’t understand yet, but after another moment Daryl’s hands loosened on Rick’s arms and Rick hated that. He didn’t mind the bruises, the claw marks, the dull ache – he’d do anything in that moment to have them back against him. So when Daryl started to pull back, lips retreating quickly and eyes filled with oncoming reparations, Rick grasped ahold of him and silenced the inevitable apologies and excuses by guiding him back against his lips, just as firm but with a tenderness this time.

 

“Rick,” Daryl gasped against him, voice splintered as if he were expecting Rick to do just the opposite of kissing him back, like now he could finally resume living.

 

Rick drank in his voice, his breath, and tilted his head to ease their lips together gently. This time, Daryl let Rick direct him, following his lead whenever Rick shifted, moving into the kiss and flowing with the increasing pressure Rick added. He could feel Daryl’s heartbeat above his own, hammering against his chest ferociously with an enthusiasm that left Rick’s head spinning. They were doing this, they were crossing a line they had only ever danced around and Rick never wanted to look back.

 

Together, they were being gradually immolated by that _something_ finally coming to fruiting in each other’s touch. There was a deliberation in Rick’s movements now, running his hand up to the base of Daryl’s neck and intertwining his fingers in the long hair. Daryl’s fingertips wavered against Rick’s skin, tentative, maddening, and Rick let the tingling churning in his stomach consume him until his self-control started to splinter from their slick mouths.

 

Slowly, Rick inched their mouths apart and took a shaky breath, noting Daryl’s pink cheeks and glossy eyes as he did so. Their faces touched and Daryl’s hair tickled Rick’s cheek, so he ran his hand through it like he only ever dared to before. Daryl shivered at that, and Rick pulled him closer until he could speak into his ear.

 

“We gotta get goin’,” Rick mumbled against Daryl lowly, and Daryl pressed against him tightly with a vulnerability that clenched at Rick’s heart.

 

Daryl was breathless as he nodded and said, “Okay,” pulled away from him, and headed over to the Torino to finish business. The sun had nearly finished setting by now, removing the opaque dusk from the shade of the car and replacing it with a tangible twilight sheen. For sure, the rest of their group were wringing their hands over the absence of them and the others, and as much as Rick couldn’t bear the thought of leaving this moment, Daryl’s tiny smile was a large comfort as he started the car.

 

As if reading the hesitance all over Rick, Daryl dared to venture over to him and reached out, but seemed to change his mind mid-motion and settled for a pat on the back.

 

“You take the Ford,” he offered, meeting Rick’s eyes with helium words that floated Rick’s heart. “I’ll follow ya. Promise.”

 

Soaring, Rick snatched Daryl’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the scarred knuckles with an unrestrained smile. “I’m gonna hold ya to that, ya know.” Daryl bit his lip again, looking bashful this time, and grazed Rick’s supple mouth with his thumb before quickly returning his hand to his jeans. He turned away roughly, body rigid, as he headed back towards their car, but Rick caught the genuine smile dancing on his features as Daryl looked back over his shoulder and honestly, he couldn’t remember a time when he was this happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEAAAAHH.


	23. Pieces 1

.:Pieces Pt. 1:.

 

_“Welcome to Newnan!”_ the old sign read charmingly, heedless to the unwelcoming state of the world it presented. 

 

_“Happiest town this side of Georgia,”_ it lied, its unconcerned innocence marred by the bloodstained rust cracking at its edges and the dented tilt of its forlorn bearings branding the old city.

 

_“Tourists welcome.”_

 

The sign left a quiet chill in their truck as they slowly rode over the debris of a busted down gate, Newnan looking all the less welcoming as they continued on. Hershel had a heavy ounce of dread in his bones as he looked out the window and clutched his gun handle, swallowing down thick tension. Maggie clicked her tongue next to him as she stared out the window at the skeleton mess of this town, trying to casually lighten the mood in her familiar way.

 

“Looks like Newnan’s seen better days,” she said, voice deceptively relaxed. 

 

Oscar glanced at her when they slowed to a stop just within the interior of the town, unbuckling his seatbelt and checking his magazine while saying, “Haven’t we all?”

 

As they left the truck, poised and waiting like a routine for any walkers to violently haul ass towards them, they checked their surroundings. There were restaurants and clothing stores within sight, looking tantalizingly auspicious, all surrounded by the shoddy makeshift fence they had run over a moment ago. Everything seemed barren, like this town had been cleaned out long ago, and no walkers were left remaining in the vicinity – an improbability that held no shred of relief. If anything, it only put Hershel further on edge as he recounted the medical supplies they were needing to stock up on for the oncoming snow. 

 

“Let’s make this quick,” Hershel said as he propped his crutches beneath him. “I’d like to be back by sundown, if we can.”

 

Maggie strapped on her gun and flicked her hair out of her eyes as she surveyed the streets, scanning each store until she settled on something in particular. “In that case, you guys go on ahead.”

 

“Where are you goin’?” asked Oscar.

 

“I’ve just got something I need to grab real quick,” she said more to Hershel, whose thick eyebrows frowned with worry. 

 

“No,” Hershel shook his head firmly. “Not a chance. We stay together, you know that.” Maggie’s face fell for a moment, and Hershel was guilty for that, but he was sick to his stomach at the thought of her going off on her own. Predictably, she didn’t take his worried ‘no’ as an answer.

 

“It’ll be faster this way,” his daughter insisted, and Hershel knew by her posture that she was already one foot further to running off. “I’ll be in ‘n out, then I’ll meet you two back at the car.”

 

With a swift kiss goodbye, Maggie left before Hershel could bother sending Oscar with her, and felt that gnawing knot only tangling itself deeper within him. Sighing wearily, Hershel gathered up his grit and swallowed down his nerves like hot sand, turning to Oscar gruffly. “Let’s just get this done and over with.”

 

The two made their way towards the center of the town, their pace slow going with Hershel’s hindered gait and quivering crutches. It was a warm day for winter, and Hershel could already feel the sweat gathering on his brow and under his arms from his exertion. Oscar kept a lookout with his rifle suspended in his hands, the empty supply bag hanging at his shoulder limply, and kept stride with Hershel. 

 

“Where do you think the people are?” Oscar asked quietly, breaking the haunting silence.

 

“No longer here, by the looks of it.” Pausing to take a quick breath, Hershel checked the stores surrounding them. They all appeared to be void of life, which could’ve been a good thing or a bad thing under their current circumstances, but the only thing that remotely settled Hershel’s intuition was the fact that nothing looked invaded. Everything seemed in place, and had it been a break in, surely there would have been signs of past violent ransacking by now. But there was no evidence of a struggle, and Hershel tried to let that be enough.

 

“You think they up and left?” pressed Oscar, also looking for something to calm his nerves. “Took their chances on the road?”

 

Hershel wanted so badly to validate him, to validate himself, but couldn’t will the words to be truthful. His gut feeling roared too loudly to ignore all of the glaring red flags, and the last time he shielded his eyes from reality, tragedy was wrought and the blood still stained his hands from it all like the mark of Cain. Resuming his weary pace, he allowed the unsettling observation from his mouth reluctantly. “And knocked down their own wall? I think not.”

 

Oscar followed behind, wound tighter than ever, and said, “A man can hope, can’t he?”

 

“So long as it doesn’t blind him. Hope can make fools of us all if we let it.” His voice was nostalgic and somber, heavy with mistakes of old, and Oscar must have noticed because he put his big hand on Hershel comfortingly.

 

“Hey, man,” he started uncomfortably, not seeming to know how or where to take off. “I never did thank you for standing up for us. I know what you did for us back then, and – Not many other guys I’ve met would’ve done the same. Takes a cool dude to… to…” Oscar shrugged weakly and let the sentiment drop. “Just wanted to say thanks is all.”

 

Hershel let a smile lift his furry face, remembering back to those darker days where horror plagued them and where hasty whispers about the fate of the two remaining convicts bloomed from bloody soil. He understood wholeheartedly their communal distrust of the two men, and could even understand Glenn going so far as to say that he’d trade these two for their late family members any day. But he couldn’t bring himself to blame Axel and Oscar, and refused to believe that further bloodshed was how they absolved their fallen friends.

 

“I’ve seen what the worst of men can do.” _Many times_ , he thought dismally. “But I never did see that in you or your friend.”

 

Oscar seemed uplifted by Hershel’s words, a tiny smile brightening his rough face, and in that moment they could forget their creeping worries and nervous fretting. They could forget the ghastly world they lived in, where it seemed that at best of times, they were starving slowly, and at worst of times, it was kill or be killed. This world was a grizzly place, but damn it all if Hershel couldn’t believe there to be the best in people, if there was nothing left to be thankful for every year, if his daughter couldn’t walk the streets alone from time to time.

 

But as they rounded the corner, all smiles and hope, Hershel realized that yet again, he’d been made the fool.

 

They were greeted by the harsh, putrid smell first, throat-clogging and hope-shattering, before the sight lain out ahead of them made any kind of horrific sense. Oscar let his gun drop for a moment to cover his nose with the back of his hand, and tears sprung to Hershel’s eyes from the overwhelming sensation of it all.

 

Bodies, dozens of them, were all piled on top of each other as if someone had taken out the trash, children and all. There was bad blood boiling in the afternoon sun, poured in liters all around their lifeless bodies wrung from their sloppily decapitated necks, empty and gray. A lattice of dried gore marked where some of the bodies had been dragged through the burning asphalt and slung into the pile of carnage, amassed in the center of town as a banner of butchery and brutality. Hershel and Oscar were frozen in nausea, rooted to the spot with spinning heads from the scene, and Hershel’s wide eyes scoured the bodies. The setting sun held an eerie, blood-red hue to it outlining the silhouette of the obscene grave site, a gruesome backdrop to a macabre setting. There was something even more bloodcurdling about this, something he couldn’t even yet register, and he felt the bile rising in his throat. 

 

The sound of a crow’s wings fluttering down to meet the slaughter seemed to snap Oscar out of his grotesque reverie, and he grabbed Hershel’s shoulder and pulled him away from the scene. 

 

Hershel’s mouth was agape as he regained his balance, staggered from the gore. The bird cawed after them, and it echoed in Hershel’s empty bones, his mouth full of brine as Maggie’s name came to his throat. Oscar had a firm grip on his shoulder, taking his weight and hauling him out from the mouth of hell itself as they fled from the center of town. Whatever it was that had led to that massacre, the whys and the hows, none of it mattered – only the fact that these butchers might still be nearby, and all Hershel could think about was getting Maggie to safety.

 

As they tore around the corner, mindless and staggering, Hershel’s eyes found the truck and felt his heart leap into his throat. 

 

Maggie was leaning back against the door of the truck, gun out but lackadaisically so, with a small box tucked in her arms and looking for all the world as if this town wasn’t soaked in bloody necrosis. The waves of relief nearly swept Hershel off his crutches at the sight of his eldest daughter, daring, stubborn, safe, and he thanked God for whatever miracle this was. Hershel felt himself take a deep, much-needed breath and reach out to stop Oscar as if this were a horrific lucid dream, stopping him for a moment.

 

“Oscar,” he breathed, trying to regain his poise. The other man turned around to face him, looking just as shaken, and hung back while Hershel gathered his words. “I’d appreciate it if you did not speak a word of this to Maggie.”

 

The darker man’s eyes were wide, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and Hershel rushed to defend himself. Now was not the time for a crisis, and he needed everyone to have their heads about them – himself included. “Please,” he insisted. “Not a word until I bring this to Rick.”

 

Oscar stayed silent, not seeming to know where his place was in the right and wrong of the group, or if he even had a voice yet among them, so when Maggie called out to them, he slowly nodded in agreement. Hershel thanked him before turning his attention to his daughter, still smiling sweetly at them with not a hair out of place, and when they approached her, he nearly toppled over trying to pull her into a hug. She was taken by surprise and patted him gently, taking a step back to look at them both.

 

“Well, I got what I came here for,” she beamed brightly, throwing the box into the truck cab noisily before turning back to the men. The clatter it made was harsh and alarming in Hershel’s ringing ears. “You get what ya needed, Daddy?”

 

Hershel’s face fell for a moment before waving away her concerns idly. “Don’t worry yourself about that.”

 

“Dad,” Maggie paused, eyebrows knit in a way she had learned from him when something wasn’t sitting right, and nodded to the incriminating bag still hanging limply on Oscar’s shoulder. “You didn’t get anything.”

 

It was a sickening feeling, having to hide his daughter from this, but he knew it was for the best and had to look down and away from her as he said, “Someone must’ve gotten there before us.”

 

Maggie still had that unsettled look on her face while she looked around at the nearby buildings. “There was a grocery store nearby, I betchya no one bothered to look there for – “

 

“Sweetheart,” Hershel stopped her short, giving her a steady look. “If it’s alright by you, I’d just like to call it a day. This trip took a lot more out of me than they used to.”

 

Slowly, Maggie’s face softened from suspicious to sympathetic and eventually nodded, but not before giving Oscar a very pointed look that he just shook his head to. The three gathered back into the cab, with Oscar behind the wheel, and quickly turned their backs on Newnan as the crows began to descend on the center of the city. 

 

~~~~~

 

“You wanna tell me what happened out there?” Rick said as he tossed his shirt to the floor in a heap. The air was cold against his chest, but he ignored the chill to focus on the man in front of him, grim and distracted as he set out his diminished medical supplies.

 

Hershel pulled the stool up in front of Rick, who sat on the edge of his cot, and began to swab at Rick’s stitches with the alcohol swap. Rick waited patiently for him to respond as he tried not to wince at the wet chill and muted sear from the alcohol, looking up to Oscar when Hershel didn’t say anything. The other man hung outside of Rick’s cell, watching them both, and stayed silent while Hershel grabbed his tweezers and scissors. 

 

It was something Rick had been looking forward to, a notion he didn’t feel often anymore – getting his stitches removed had been a long time coming, and having it done just the day after his pivotal outing with Daryl only made the moment more gratefully tangible. Daryl’s lips on his was a thought that still sent his mind spinning and heart racing, but felt his world come crashing to a halt when he saw the state Hershel was in after their run. The older man didn’t want to say anything, not in front of the others anyway, and that gave Rick a pretty clear indication of what was to come. He was now drowning in the silent trepidation etched in Hershel’s weary face, never having even caught his breath after Daryl took it away.

 

So when Hershel sat him down with Oscar in his cell, Rick wasn’t all that surprised by the ominous news Newnan brought. 

 

“The people of Newnan had built a wall of sorts around them, and it had already been torn down by the time we got there. We checked the streets for people, or, or walkers, anything, but it had all been cleared out. The place was abandoned, Rick.” Hershel spoke as he pulled at the sutures in Rick’s shoulder, tugging them loose then cutting them apart one by one. 

 

Rick absorbed the information, brows knit from Hershel’s story. “You think they cleared out? Had to evacuate?” he suggested, but Hershel’s face was too bleak for that conclusion.

 

“I wish that were the case, but,” his hand shook for a moment and he paused before continuing. “I don’t the they ever got the chance.”

 

Swallowing the bud of optimism, Rick couldn’t hide the goosebumps on his skin at Hershel’s words and looked to Oscar when Hershel began cleaning the mess of floss bits to busy himself. Oscar looked equally shaken, if not more so, at the grim world poised on the outside, seeing for the first time a looming tragedy once hidden blissfully behind a refuge of marble bricks and steel bars. Prison didn’t seem so bad in hindsight, Rick mused darkly.

 

“They were dead,” Oscar put simply, eyes glossy in remembrance. “All of ‘em. And it looked like whoever did it dragged them all to the middle of the town.”

 

The job was done, and Hershel was putting his tools away as Rick’s freshly healed skin tingled in its new-found freedom, unburdened by minty itching and snagged t-shirts. Yet Rick felt nothing but the empathetic fear in his comrades, hot and alive in the tiny cell. 

 

“Are you sure they were the townsfolk? If they were walkers, then – “

 

“They were civilians, Rick,” Hershel cut him off firmly before he could even begin to hope for otherwise. “Not a walker among them. Not even come to gorge themselves on the remains. They were gone, Rick, and all that was left were the bodies of the people.”

 

It came out roughly as if it had been eating away at Hershel, gnawing at him and dissolving his spirit. And Rick agreed – he couldn’t tell which was more unsettling; all of Newnan being slaughtered, or the lack of the walkers that surely would have been present thereafter. He recounted their story before asking, “What about Maggie? Why isn’t she here?”

 

“She wasn’t there to see it, and I thank my lucky stars for that,” he answered solemnly. “Nobody need bear witness to that.”

 

“Ain’t never seen nothing like that, man,” shuddered Oscar, and Rick realized just how sheltered he and the other men had been in here, of all places. It really disillusioned his sheriff-laced views of what a true criminal was. “Not even in prison. The guys who did all that… They belong on ice more than most dudes I knew here.”

 

Hershel nodded sympathetically and patted Oscar on the arm, thinking for a moment before saying, “Newnan is a graveyard now, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it were the work of those men you and Daryl encountered.”

 

He had read Rick’s weighty thoughts exactly, and Rick clenched his jaw as he relived the terror of waking up to two unknowns with guns and aggression overlooking their car. It had left him with too many sleepless nights, not unlike when Randall’s gang was on the outskirts of their sanctuary, and with Hershel’s guidance, Rick had decided to keep his mouth shut. Maybe it was a sore spot after Shane, maybe Rick just wanted to uphold the peace this time, but he was now starting to wonder if it had been the best choice as he glanced up at Oscar. 

 

Disbelief had bled into his features at that. “You saying you ran into these guys before?”

 

“We’re not saying anything, Oscar,” Rick chided gently. This was a matter to be dealt with outside of inner turmoil, so he angled to appease the other. “We don’t know if it was the same thugs Daryl and I ran into a few weeks ago, but this isn’t the first time we’ve been met with hostility on the road. I don’t expect it’ll be the last, neither. The guys we met had a group, but they were further south than Newnan. Can’t say if this is the same crowd or not.”

 

“Whoa, woah, you just let them go?” said Oscar, his deep voice picking up a notch. 

 

“No,” Rick answered with a hard edge to his words. He finally understood where Daryl was coming from, and didn’t begrudge the man for making the hard decision to preserve one life over another’s, but it didn’t make the blood on his hands any easier to live with. Hell, Rick’s hands felt so stained anymore that he couldn’t even pretend to ignore it. “No, we didn’t.”

 

“Then…?”

 

Taking a moment to respond, Rick squinted as he tried to find a way to sugar coat it, knowing it wasn’t the best of scenarios to describe to a newcomer, but eventually said, “They wouldn’t let us go. So we dealt with it.”

 

Oscar’s eyes widened, and Rick quickly rose to settle him, placing a hand on his shoulder comfortingly and met his eyes as he calmly spoke. “They gave us no choice, Oscar,” he said, running Daryl’s words over in his mouth as he repeated them back to the darker man. “We do what we need to in order to survive, to keep one another safe, hard as that choice may be sometimes. We protect our own.”

 

“Rick’s a good man, Oscar,” Hershel offered helpfully, and Rick was incredibly grateful for that when Oscar visibly settled down. “He’s done good by us before. Now, what do we do about Newnan?” 

 

Rick paused to reach into his bedside table, shuffling around his meager possessions until he pulled out a map of Georgia and a pen. After Lori’s car crash so long ago, they had been without a map and wandering the road for some time until Daryl found one in an abandoned car somewhere. It felt leathery from use in Rick’s hands as he opened it up and spread it on his mattress, trying to keep the corners from curling in, and bit the cap off the pen. 

 

Hershel and Oscar crowded behind him to look down at his work as he scribbled onto the print, etching out the path he and Daryl had traveled so long ago and crossing out Newnan entirely. Quite frankly, it felt a bit callous to extinguish what was certainly a once beautiful town filled with once living people with the sloppy ink of a pen, blacking it out of existence as if they had never lived at all. But sympathy was starting to feel obsolete and overridden by a survivalist apathy, and Rick could see the blood on his hands clearer than ever as he capped the pen. More unsettling than his ghosts was the fact that it was almost a habit to allow instinct over empathy anymore. 

 

“If they are one in the same,” Rick spoke, trying to find a pattern in the scribbled instances dotted above their coordinates. “Then it looks like they’re heading north. Might be situated up there somewhere, maybe near the interstate. S’pose that makes Bremen off the map, just to be safe.”

 

Rick circled all of the places on the map north of the prison that might house an opposing gang, labeling them as dangerous territory, and scanned his remaining options south of them. There wasn’t much left nearby, but they’d have to make due until the other group decided to move on, become less hostile, or just… die out, he thought darkly. The old Rick might’ve been hopeful for one outcome over the other, but now he knew better than to expect anything but the worst, and couldn’t bring himself to admit how anxious he was for it to be resolved however that may be. 

 

“Reckon that just leaves us with Franklin, Greensville, and Woodbury,” he said with more resolution that he felt as he tucked away his map and dismissed the others from his cell. A small part of him just couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling of going in blind, having had too many close calls already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! It's good to finally be back. I have been building up a bit of a backlog to start posting for next week, when Walking Dead finally comes out! Please let me know what you think. It's taken a bit for me to get back into the swing of things, so I apologize for any awkward wording or them being out of character. I'm also remaking the plot as I go, since I've had to change living situations and lost all of my notes, so I really appreciate your patience. I have a good month+ worth of work to post, so let me know if you'd like me to post my chapters on the Sunday that Walking Dead comes out, or the Saturday before.
> 
> I've missed you guys! I hope one day you find your way back to this fic so you can finish it with me!


	24. Pieces 2

.:Pieces Pt. 2:.

 

“Here,” Maggie motioned to her sister, throwing the small box onto the table with a loud clatter, and despite the abrupt shock, Beth beamed and grabbed for it quickly.

 

“Oh, thank you! I never thought you would actually – “ Beth’s smile faltered when she looked up to her elder and paused, jigsaw puzzle still in hand and eyes wide with questions. Maggie was agitated, that was always easy to tell, with her furrowed brow, pouting lip, and sassy stance looming over her in the dining area. It was like a subdued thunderstorm when Maggie got angry, hovering and alive with frenetic energy until she burst at the lining. Beth always tried her best to preempt that, but sometimes it felt like trying to hold a hurricane in her hand – pointless and precarious.

 

Still, though, she tentatively dared to ask, “What’s wrong?”

 

Beth was usually prepared for Maggie to just shrug it off as none of her business and go brood elsewhere when she got in these occasional moods, and was surprised when she actually got an answer. Or, partially an answer, anyway.

 

“I don’t have a good feeling about Daddy,” she spoke, lowering her voice in case anybody came to join them.

 

“What?” Beth perked up, clutching the box tighter in her worry. Immediately, the worst case scenarios flashed before her, and as much as she tried to help it, Beth couldn’t stop the conclusions jumping to her fretting mind. Her Daddy laying there, legless, life draining out from the knee, and gasping up towards the heavens in agony all had haunted her, and she didn’t think she was strong enough to handle it again. _No no no no…_ “Why? Did something happen?”

 

“Yes… Well, no,” paused Maggie, pulling in her supple bottom lip for a moment while she looked Beth over, apparently noting the mounting apprehension in her wide blue eyes. “Not exactly. But I’m worried he’s started drinking again, Beth. He was acting really strange on our run yesterday.”

 

The younger Greene exhaled her panic and tried to settle her nerves, putting down the puzzle box and turning to face her sister as she asked, “So that means… what, exactly?”

 

Beth knew that Maggie had been old enough to remember Hershel during his drinking days, but it wasn’t something Beth could really relate with, since Hershel had always been sober with her in his life. Every time her Daddy and the subject of alcohol came up, it always sounded like a bad joke to her, a tasteless thing with a misplaced punchline and awkward laugh, and Beth couldn’t help but always shrug it off. This wasn’t the first time Maggie suspected their dad of going back to his old ways, but to Beth, the picture never really fit, and her sister’s suspicions seemed more appropriate for a stranger.

 

“It means,” Maggie reasserted, “That something’s up.”

 

“You say that about anything,” said Beth, rolling her eyes and opening the box. This situation went from heart attack to tiresome, and as much as she loved her older sister, sometimes it was hard to take Maggie seriously. The Greene girls were known for their temperamental moods and mercurial responses to stress, and Beth knew that she wasn’t one to talk in the least about this matter, but still. Sometimes Maggie looked too much into things.

 

Maggie scoffed and protested. “I do not.”

 

“Do, too,” Beth shot right back, dumping all of the puzzle pieces on the table to start sorting out the border parts. “Like when you thought Jimmy was smoking at our last Christmas party,” she argued, feeling strangely proud of herself that speaking of the past didn’t rend her heart in two anymore.

 

“There was smoke coming from the back porch,” she defended haughtily with her arms crossed over her chest. “How was I supposed to know the wreath caught fire on the lantern?”

 

“Then what about when you swore Betsy was pregnant, but really she just had a stomach ache from eating too much cut grass?”

 

Maggie at least had enough humility to blush at that one, but quickly waved her hand away as if it never even happened. “That one was more wishful thinking on my part. Doesn’t count. ‘Sides, she had a baby the year after, anyway.”

 

“Well,” Beth drew out the word slowly as she looked around, making sure they were well alone before she continued as if her next words were sheer criminal if they got caught. Really, in her head, they might as well have been. “What about that whole Rick and Daryl thing you started on a while ago? That just wishful thinking on your part, too?”

 

“Please,” her sister actually laughed at that, and suddenly whatever was up with their dad was put on the backburner in favor of combating this. “Have you seen them, lately?”

 

“Yes,” answered Beth, feeling very nearly offended by whatever implication was hidden there. Of course she had seen those two, and she couldn’t really say that they were acting any different, could she? Really, they were just the same two men she looked up to and was grateful for because they were constantly out risking their lives for the rest of them. Right?

 

“Well, I haven’t,” Maggie stated matter-of-fact. “Because it seems like they’re always wrapped up in each other lately.”

 

“So?” dared Beth in a timid voice, risking an answer.

 

“Honestly, Beth,” sighed Maggie, shaking her head at her baby sister while she started piecing the puzzle together. “Maybe you’ll figure it out when you’re older.” Beth shrugged her dainty shoulder, too engrossed in the tiny pieces to seem to give her much mind. That line always seemed to be a cop out adults used when they had no explanation, anyway. “Speaking of which,” Maggie ventured. “Why don’t you ask Carl to help you put that together? That seems like it’d be fun.”

 

Beth couldn’t keep the scoff at bay when Maggie mentioned Carl, a bitter frown pulling her brows together at imagining it. He’d laugh and act like he was too old for fun and games, opting to clean his gun or patrol the wall instead of doing something better suited to his age. It was frustrating, to say the least, having someone relatively close to her in age and then having him be so… childish.

 

“Yeah, right,” she mumbled. It didn’t suit her to pout, she knew, and she always tried to keep a smile for everyone else’s sake, but she couldn’t help it. It was lonely sometimes, only having Judy to play with. She tried talking to Rick about it, and she was grateful to him for listening, she really was – he even had Maggie get her a puzzle yesterday. But Beth knew better than to expect Rick to drop everything just to help her with boy problems. Not that these were ‘boy problems’, per se, she corrected, just kid problems more like. “He’s two years younger than me, Maggie. I’m a little too mature for him.”

 

Maggie laughed at that, putting down the two pieces in her hands to look up at Beth. “Glenn’s two years younger than me,” she pointed out with a dry smile.

 

“Yeah, but, but that’s different,” Beth sputtered, quick to correct herself. “You’re both grownups.”

 

“Well, if older men are more your type, there’s always Axel,” she laughed and nudged Beth playfully, who fumbled with the puzzle pieces and made a face at the thought.

 

“As if.” Beth couldn’t help but laugh as well, even though just a few months prior, the inmate actually had the nerve to call her ‘sweetheart’. It had been jarring, to say the least, and everyone had turned on him for it, but the whole thing was nowhere near as terrifying as Maggie’s reaction to it. After she heard that Axel had approached her, Maggie was on him like a hawk, constantly hovering around him with a protective fire in her eyes and not bothering in the slightest to pretend otherwise. She finally began to let up once the older man began to gravitate towards the only available woman in their group, another thing Beth would supposedly understand when she was older.

 

Maggie was still laughing at her reaction and Beth only minded a little, since the fact that she could joke about it now meant that everyone was closer to being at ease with one another. Honestly, Beth really thought that Maggie and the others might actually exile Axel for his extreme indecency.

 

“I give up,” Maggie said after they fell to silence, pushing the scattered bits of colored cardboard away from her. “I don’t know how you do these so fast.”

 

Beth shrugged, happy with the progress they had already made, and looked up when Maggie abruptly put her hand on Beth’s petite shoulder. Maggie’s face had become more serious now, and Beth knew where this was going. “I mean what I say about Daddy, though,” she spoke, and Beth watched her warily. “Somethin’ ain’t right with him, Beth, you mark my words.” Chewing the inside of her lip, Beth looked back down at her work – the harsh words Maggie sometimes had for their dad never sat well with her, and even now it rang wrong in her ears.

 

“But whatever it is, we’re still family,” Maggie continued, and Beth vaguely noticed that the words sounded more for herself than for her little sister’s sake. She nodded her head anyway, for Maggie, and smiled when she felt a kiss on her cheek. “If ya ever need me, just come find me.”

 

Absently, Beth hummed her affirmation, wondering when she’d ever really need to keep those words in mind as her sister walked away and left her alone to her work. She was acclimating to the prison life, they all were, and she didn’t think any of them intended on moving anytime soon. No, for now, all Beth needed was to finish her puzzle, and she was so close that she was already grinning ear to ear by the time Daryl came in with a hefty bag slung around his shoulder, followed by Oscar.

 

“The hell is that?” Daryl asked gruffly, nodding towards the table.

 

Beth smiled up at him as he looked for a place to set his bag down, feeling some shy sense of glory blossoming in her from being able to show off her pride and joy to these two austere men. There were only a dozen missing from the set now, empty slots interrupting what was supposed to be a kitten in a basket. Maybe Daryl would even get to watch her complete it, she thought joyously, not that he really seemed the type to care for puzzles, or even kittens for that matter. “It’s a puzzle, silly!”

 

“Ya don’t say?” came his distant response, noting that every other surface was cluttered by one thing or another, and eventually turned around and put his heavy bag right on top of the puzzle. “Well it’s in the way.”

 

“Hey! You’re gonna mess it up!” Beth’s hands reached out helplessly towards her puzzle, but the damage was already done and the pieces had begun to splinter out in fractured bits of kitten. It was near heart-wrenching, and she could feel her face crumple with the unfairness of it. She had been so close, so close to actually creating something and having something tangible to be proud of, something she could finally show off for once. She knew it wasn’t as impressive as shooting a gun or killing walkers like Carl preferred, but it still gave her a sense of accomplishment that was taken away by a bag of ammo. It was too symbolic to swallow down peacefully.

 

“It’s just a stupid puzzle,” Daryl grouched as he yanked the zipper open on the duffle bag, inadvertently scattering the puzzle around even more.

 

Beth watched on in distress, knowing full well that this was most likely just Daryl’s typical insensitive behavior, but couldn’t help feeling like it was a personal attack by how curt the older man seemed to be. “It is not!” she protested still, hoping for at least an apology. “I thought that, maybe, we could put it up on the wall or something!”

 

“These damn walls r’ giving me enough of a headache, we don’t need any more shit added ta it,” Daryl scoffed and Beth felt that right in her heart, the shockwave of his words flooding straight to her wide eyes.

 

Daryl stopped short after what he said, eyes rising up to meet hers, and seemed to understand that he went too far from the fragile look of her. Beth had prided these love-coated walls all thick with family and memories as her best contribution, save for taking care of Judith. What Daryl said went beyond rude, and Beth tried to compose herself, even though that was always a weakness of hers. Daryl wasn’t quick to make amends, though, and Beth wasn’t going to wait around forever for him to realize how uncalled for that was, so she told him right to his face. “You’re such a jerk, Daryl _Dixon_.”

 

With that, she got up and turned around, heading straight for the guard tower to simmer by herself for a little bit, leaving both the puzzle and the hunter out of sight and out of mind.

 

~~~~~ 

 

It was nearing the end of the day when Rick found himself wandering back inside, having spent all afternoon with his children out in the increasing snowfall. Axel was helping clear the garden and the tarp under Hershel’s instruction, Carol was inside napping before her night watch, Maggie and Glenn were nowhere to be seen, and probably for the best knowing them, and Rick saw Beth storming into the guard tower for some reason or another.

 

“Wonder what’s up with her,” Carl muttered under his breath as he watched her disappear behind the door. His ears were pink and his hair was messy, but his eyes were alight with concern.

 

Rick followed his eyes and smirked. “Why dontcha go find out?”

 

“Please, Dad.” Predictably, his son reddened and scoffed at his suggestion, turning back to the soggy snowman-walker he had been working on like he couldn’t care less about Beth. “What would I even say?”

 

“’Hi’ seems like as good a place to start as any,” Rick chuckled, knowing all too well how that word seemed like the hardest to say sometimes. Carl gave him a look like it was the worst suggestion in the world, so Rick gathered his patience and tried again. “Or you could even say, ‘hey, Beth, you alright?’.”

 

Carl stayed silent, as if he were thinking it over, and Rick nudged him just a little more. “Bet she’d appreciate it.”

 

Eventually, Carl shrugged and straightened his hat before turning around towards the tower, knocking over his snowman in the process and muttering that it was getting cold out anyway. Rick smiled somberly after him, having forgotten looming dread of puberty and all of its glory in the face of survival, but was relieved that they’d managed to live long enough to hear Carl’s voice crack. Even his mood swings were a thing of accomplishment, Rick mused as he bundled Judith in her blanket and headed inside. Though he couldn’t help but wonder if he should be unsettled by the fact that his son was more nervous around girls than he was of the undead, Rick ultimately decided not to worry about it. At that age, Rick knew that fighting for your life seemed easier than talking to a girl, and cringed to remember his first attempts with women.

 

As he headed up the hill, lost in bittersweet memories he used to laugh at with Shane over, he met Oscar coming out of the prison and nodded to him.

 

“Hey, man,” he greeted.

 

“Hey,” replied Rick, adjusting Judith in his arms as she wriggled to see Oscar, who smiled lightly down at her. “You and Daryl finished?”

 

“Yep, the ammo’s all accounted for,” Oscar smirked, seemingly happy that the group was easing him in to their work routine after keeping him and Axel at arm’s length for so long. “Took us a little longer this time around than it did a few weeks ago, but I s’pose that’s a good thing.”

 

Rick nodded at that absently while he looked around Oscar’s shoulder for his missing companion, quickly asking, “Where’s Daryl?”

 

“Homes’ still in the kitchen,” he gestured back towards the prison, watching Rick closely. “He messed up that girl’s puzzle and she got pretty broken up ‘bout it. Think he’s tryin’ to put it right or something.”

 

“I’ll go check on him,” Rick said, making to move past Oscar.

 

Oscar was looking at him with something beneath his eyes, working away at his brain, but Rick could honestly only care so much at the moment until the other man spoke up. “Want me to take her?” he offered helpfully, but Rick could feel himself instantly wary and hesitated, searching Oscar’s face. It had been a long time since the group stopped being so on edge around the felons, the two men slowly proving their worth, but sometimes Rick couldn’t shake his fatherly reservations from watching them and his children. But Judith was cooing and reaching for Oscar, and Rick gently nodded before handing her over delicately and giving her a careful kiss atop her downy hair. He was relieved to see Oscar holding her like precious glass and had to remind himself that the bear of a man had held Judith before, each time becoming less brief than the last.

 

“Thanks,” muttered Rick before he slipped into the prison, dim and quiet.

 

When he entered the dining area, Rick couldn’t help but feel like an intruder as he stood in the doorway and watched Daryl at the table, fingers dexterous and filled with puzzle pieces. He had his bottom lip pulled between his teeth in concentration, gentle and supple, in and out thoughtlessly as he nibbled at it, and seeing it made Rick’s blood spike to certain speechless levels. It was erotic in its own right, and Rick tried not to focus on their recent acquaintance as he descended the few steps and pulled himself together.

 

Daryl looked up at his entrance and nodded to him, dismissing him quicker than Rick cared to notice as he worked on a strewn jigsaw puzzle. Remnants of their kiss were hot and alive in Rick’s consciousness like conductors in an open circuit, memory prickling his skin and firing up his pulse like a pleasant distraction.

 

“Hey,” Rick forced his attention away from the other man’s pink-bitten lips and down towards his hands, which didn’t sharpen his focus any better.

 

“Hey,” came the preoccupied response. If Daryl noticed his own preoccupation, then he didn’t let on. Rick couldn’t tell if he was more relieved or disheartened by that, and tried to shake off his electric nerves as he took a seat adjacent to Daryl and stretched his gaze across the torn puzzle like a diversion.

 

“Need any help?” he offered, not bothering to ask Daryl what happened or why he took to finishing Beth’s work.

 

Daryl shrugged, not very forthcoming with anything other than careful distance between their hands and measured reactions to Rick’s presence, and it certainly didn’t quell any reservations Rick had. As Rick reached for a four-pronged piece to fit in with its mates, Daryl glanced up from his work again like a compulsion before quickly adverting his eyes. Rick felt his heart start to deplete, listless and deflating and creating a hollow in his chest that he was painfully aware of. Was that it then? Just a chance meeting, one solitary moment of passion, something to shut Rick up? No, Rick knew better than that. He knew _Daryl_ better than that. The hunter might’ve been the most aloof person Rick had ever known, but his integrity was beyond question.

 

Rick decided to set aside his uncertainty to focus on helping Daryl, but was, quite frankly, at a loss of what to do. Puzzles had never been fun for him, and he held the piece in his hand suspended in faltering indecision as he raked over the rest of it, trying hard to find a place amongst the others.

 

“Here.” Rick looked up and saw Daryl gesturing towards a rung that Rick had glanced over at least twice and grinned sheepishly when it slide right in.

 

“Thanks,” spoke Rick, and the two kept on like that in comfortable silence – Daryl piecing everything together smoothly, like this was something he had done many times over, and Rick trying different shapes haltingly until Daryl showed him the correct placement mercifully. It was unique, this dynamic of Rick letting Daryl take the reins for a while, steering with confidence that he rarely knew he had and was eager to let Daryl thrive. It was an experience akin to being led out in the forest by him, tender and trusting, something he never felt after Shane had wildly yanked those same reins from him. Rick had kept an addictively controlled hold on their group, shepherding his loved ones with a loving, but firm hand out of the wolves den best he could.

 

But there was something relieving in this, in this mutual respect of one another, a gentle yielding to Daryl’s equally formidable presence and the sway it held over him. He was assured by Daryl when he let himself, something he rarely felt even with his family.

 

“Yer pretty handy at this,” Rick noted softly, quite content to just sit back and watch Daryl’s apt hands work. There was no pause or hesitance in his movements, just a living flow of confidence and piercing eyes, not unlike when he held something alive in his crossbow’s sights.

 

Daryl looked up at him, awash with some pensive thought as he was drawn away from his work, bottom lip still snug between his nervous habit. “Thanks,” he muttered humbly, as if he didn’t quite see it coming. He fell to silence again, eyes flicking between Rick and the puzzle before he spoke up again. “Always had a knack for ‘em. Even as a kid.”

 

“Yeah?” encouraged Rick. The other man’s voice, low and husky, held some kind of warm rapture over him, re-inflating his heart until it swelled against his ribcage. Like Daryl speaking to him meant something, something more than just words. It meant he could still face Rick, and whatever happened next between them, he wouldn’t need to pretend otherwise. “S’more than that. Ya got an eye for detail, Daryl.”

 

Predictably, Daryl turned his face to let his hair fall over his flush, gnawing on his lip even harder at that and keeping his eyes down to himself. It still surprised Rick to see the other like this, this powerful monolith of a man strung tight with lean muscle and confident bluster, yet he was still curiously delicate and vulnerable under Rick’s gunmetal gaze.

 

But the more he thought about it, the more Rick realized just how accurate it was that Daryl caught every little thing. His own forte was with people – something Daryl lacked at miserably on the forefront – and could gauge an individual’s pieces with empathetic leadership and unwavering instinct. He could keep people together, but Daryl… Daryl kept them alive. Daryl had instincts far beyond what Rick learned in courting women and training squads, and it awed him to see Daryl so versed in nuance and subtly when the man came off for all intents and purposes as a heavy handed, snarling thug when they’d first met. But nothing could have been further from the truth, not when something really mattered to Daryl.

 

Daryl hunting for Sophia.

 

Daryl listening to Shane lie.

 

Daryl watching his back.

 

His attention to fragmented hints, shadowed warnings, concealed intentions, all latent with muted danger just on the cusp of peripheral presence. He owed Daryl more than just his life.

 

“How do you do that?” Rick asked softly, about the puzzle, about the hunting, about everything.

 

Daryl was looking at him again, and Rick knew his face gave away too much of the affection he felt for the younger man hammering in his heart. He was too keen to detail for Rick to even bother trying to hide the flood of warmth he felt, the misty ardor in his eyes – they were beyond that now, he hoped.

 

“It ain’t nothin' special,” shrugged Daryl stiffly, eyes glued to Rick’s. He cleared his throat before trying again. “Puzzles were about the only thing I had as a kid that wasn’t runnin’ and huntin’. But my old man…” Daryl trailed off, eyes back to the puzzle, and shrugged again. Rick steeled himself for the worst, as was always the case when Daryl mentioned his late father, though he couldn’t tell if the palpable tension wiring through the other man’s body was from bringing up the senior Dixon or from Rick’s barely contained assiduity. “He’d usually just trash ‘em ‘fore I could ever finish ‘em. Always said that fun ‘n games made ya an easy target.”

 

Rick felt that usual protective chill set it, gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath to keep it away from the trembling flame in his chest. He tried to keep his tone light and playful, despite the acrid lead of Will Dixon’s heavy influence on his friend.

 

“Kinda like ‘romance and necking and all that’?” Rick pierced his quoted quip with a cheeky smile, eyes alit with that same fire that burned him before.

 

Daryl cast his gaze all over him, desperate for something, and Rick swore he could feel it tangibly. There was a thrilling sense of danger here, as if he were approaching a ravenous wolf within its cage with a steak and a compromise and hoping for the best in some daring breach of protocol. They had come to this agreement once before, and now waited to see if it could be made again, the anticipation heating his skin and parting his lips.

 

Without looking away, Daryl gingerly held out the remaining puzzle piece, a quiet, explicit offering in his timid gesture and piercing eyes. Rick could hardly feel anything but this moment, his pounding heart wired tightly with some unspoken string of expectation drawn between them, straining, ready to snap into something else entirely.

 

“Last piece,” Daryl spoke with hot and heavy awareness in his words, lips still pink-bitten from his nerves. He could feel it, too, Rick noted. “Think ya can manage it?”

 

“Think I got it.”

 

Rick’s husky voice sounded foreign to his own hears and he was unable to remember a time when he felt such a shuddering presentiment gripping him by the neck, making his throat dry and breath weaken. He took the remaining puzzle piece from Daryl’s outstretched hand, feeling a slight electricity bloom from their brief contact, and slid it into place easily.

 

When the puzzle was finally complete, Daryl stood up to admire their work, a soft smile playing on the corners of his lips that tugged at Rick’s heart. “Thanks.”

 

“Can’t say I did much. Reckon you did all the leg work,” Rick smiled back, sights fixated on Daryl’s contented features more so than the puffy white kitten perched in the wicker basket lain out on the table, complete. Something distant in him thought that Beth was going to be delighted, but it was quickly muted out by Daryl’s easy smile turned his way.

 

“Yer shit at puzzles, that’s fer sure, but sometimes… I guess it’s nice ta just have you ‘round,” Daryl fumbled with his words, weighty with laden significance and tentative with calculated consequence. His gentle smiled faded into nervous biting again, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth when Rick groped for something to say. “Must be getting’ soft,” he added, looking down and away from Rick with fallen expectations.

 

Rick only paused for a moment to consider what Daryl wanted – if something extraordinary happened once, was it just an incident? And if it happened again, here, now, was that merely coincidence? Were they simply two victims of circumstance, at the whim of chance and made to capitulate to the universe’s cruel contingency plan? It seemed inane, really, to think of this world as having any kind of happy ending, but with Daryl here in front of him, Rick couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. All Rick wanted was answers, and Daryl was the only one who could give him the clarity he so desperately needed.

 

He needed to know, and his body acted on its own accord to find out.

 

Before Daryl could move away, Rick scaled the length of Daryl’s nervous body, running up against it as he stood up in one smooth movement to bring himself chest to chest to the other man, face to face, surmounting his body with ease. As he rose, he touched their foreheads together, lifting Daryl's line of sight from the floor to meet his own. Daryl flinched at the contact, and Rick could feel the younger man's breath inhale sharply against his own cheeks from how close they were. He held his breath, as Rick held his, and an ache hung in the air, needing some surrender to the pulse vibrating between the two men.

 

"The hell are ya thinking? Anyone could walk in." Daryl's breath came out in a whispered rush against Rick's lips -- harsh, but not in a way that held any fight to it, merely a brittleness ready to buckle under the strain. It sent a hot tension pulling down Rick's spine, winding his muscles tight as he took in the look on Daryl's face, barely reserved anticipation parting his lips to breathe the other man in. Hungry eyes devoured one another, eyes that belied any hesitance as they lowered to Rick's mouth, to his throat, to their juxtapose chests rising and falling with each other, then traveled back up to his pleading eyes.

 

"Please," Rick spoke, his voice low and commanding. "I need..." 

 

_This._

_You._

_To know. I need to know._

 

Daryl's eyes softened, not needing further explanation, which was good since Rick could hardly string together something coherent as he leaned in, bringing them together and absolving that shuddering tensity between them with much needed contact. It was like taking a breath after drowning, feeling that reassurance of living another day, having that uncertainty stripped away and replaced with velvety serenity of fulfillment. A gratifying heat blossomed in his stomach lusciously as Daryl pressed into him, wrapping his large fingers into the fabric of his shirt as Rick cupped his neck with his hands, using his thumbs to stroke along Daryl's throat. It elicited a gasp from Daryl's mouth that filled every inch of him and radiated a mindless need, wanting that sound against him again. 

 

Their mouths were hot and alive against the other's, and Rick gently angled Daryl's chin with his thumbs to press further into the supple pressure of their kiss, wanting to give everything, to have everything. The pulse beneath the pad of his thumb was frantic, fluttering under his skin and quickening when Rick stroked the throbbing point. Daryl's hands shook as they trailed up Rick's body, exploring Rick's lean form, and little pinpricks of excitement followed each touch under Rick's clothes. Everything felt too constrictive in that moment -- his shirt, the location, their posture -- and Rick couldn't stop himself from gingerly changing their position to accommodate his wanton instinct. 

 

Rick pressed his body into Daryl's, gently shifting them until Daryl's thighs were back against the table, never moving far from his mouth as he did so. Daryl gave in to Rick's subtle movements, letting him readjust them and pulling Rick tight against him as he did so. He could feel every hard, rigid inch of the younger man against him, the hammering of his heart beneath his shirt, the trembling in his thighs as they threatened to give out. There was a moment of incongruous dissatisfaction when Daryl pulled away, stiffly turning at the waist to scoot the puzzle further away from their ravenous bodies, and at that moment, Rick felt a surge of tender endearment intermingling with the voracious desire he felt towards this man. It was a simple thing, something Daryl might not have even realized he was doing, but the preservation of their teamwork, of Beth's precious whimsy, sent a pang of affection through Rick and he ran his fingertips across Daryl's cheek softly. The change in his touch, in the avid meaning behind it, caused Daryl to turn back his way, eyes scanning Rick's face as he tried to adapt to this new contact. Rick pulled him in again, just as hungry for Daryl, just as needy of the other man, but in a measured and patient way now. His lips moved more deliberately, his hands clasped Daryl's skin with an indulgent fondness, and when Daryl kissed him back, he felt the world spinning happily around them, like this was the focal point of entirety.

 

It wasn't long, pressed up against Daryl like this, that Rick felt his lips asking for more, felt his body coiling up again. Daryl had burned a trail into the back of Rick's neck with his searching fingers, and grazed his nape with pared fingernails as they delved into his hair. Rick inhaled through clenched teeth with a hiss of air, and his body responded to the sudden sensation with hypersensitivity, goosebumps rising to his skin and desire spiking in his blood as it traveled down his body. He pressed into Daryl, and Daryl obliged by lifting up and perching on the edge of the table to bring Rick closer, spreading his powerful thighs and locking them against Rick's hips possessively. It drove Rick mad, feeling this starved need in his heart and how it never felt satiated -- he had forgotten exactly what passion felt like.

 

Daryl was unrelenting, his hands pulling Rick closer, his tight thighs a constant point of Rick's mindless attention, enkindling an all-consuming, reckless urgency pumping through his veins that spurred him on. His thumbs on Daryl's neck moved down to his clavicle, dipping into the hollow of the supple skin lavishly and following along the bend of his collarbone with a sensuous touch until it was interrupted by sweat-stiffened fabric, starchy and rigid compared to Daryl's hot skin. When Rick trailed along the edge of his shirt collar with patient fingers, Daryl inhaled into the kiss, shivers racking the younger man's body one after another until he was trembling. There was saccharine passion on his breath, promises of more, and Rick didn't think twice about pursuing the prospect inwards with a stroke of his tongue. It instinctively followed the hot breath to meet Daryl's mouth, salaciously sliding against the length of his tender lips and dipping inwards when he felt Daryl scarcely part them in surprise. 

 

The same fingers that were teasing tendrils of thirst down Rick's scalp yanked at his hair, ripping him from Daryl's flushed mouth and forcing him to look at Daryl's widened eyes, still misted over with hunger, but now looking at Rick as if he proposed something preposterous. 

 

"Sonuvabitch," Daryl breathed, hands at his lips.

 

"Daryl, I -- " Alarmed, Rick groped for words, completely unraveled from the abrupt change of atmosphere. Words flew from his mouth unbidden, rushing to close the gap between them both physically and otherwise. "I'm sorry, I -- Was that too much?"

 

The realization came crashing down into him like a tidal wave, palpable and damning, that Daryl might not have been prepared for any of this, much less it escalating so quickly. The man could handle his own when it came to anything but this, and here Rick was losing his stringent grasp on tasteful restraint, on what it meant to be a gentleman. But with Daryl's legs still affixed to his hips, Rick could hardly remember the meaning of the word.

 

Daryl opened his mouth to answer, but before he could seemingly figure out what to say, the sound of a door closing down the hallway interrupted him and they quickly split apart.

Rick slid from his gaping thighs and immediately missed the rare contact between them, something precious and stirring in a way it wasn't with anyone else. Still plainly unhinged, Daryl shifted off the tabletop in one fluid movement just as Beth entered the room, greeting them with her trademark smile that began to dissolve into a questioning stare as she looked between the two men.

"Hey guys, I -- " she faltered and furrowed her brows, clearly picking up on the stiff gravity in the room. "Am I, am I interrupting something?" 

 

Rick smiled back at her, careful to keep his composure as he deftly avoided her question with one of her own. "Thought you were out keepin' watch?" He spoke with a fatherly tone to his voice, wanting to keep full jurisdiction in this exchange.

 

Beth nodded unevenly, her unwashed straw hair bobbing around her pale face as she did so. "I am, I just -- I came in for some water is all. I can leave, if you two want."

 

Daryl's growl was gruff and embarrassed, and he became even more visibly flustered when Beth directed her statement to him. He put on a threatening snarl and eyed her with dagger thin eyes, his voice tinged with defensive aggression as he shot back, "Fixed yer stupid puzzle." Without another look back, Daryl bailed out of the room and out towards the exit, giving Rick a rather conspicuously wide berth as he left.

 

“Th-thank you!” Beth called in surprise, but Daryl didn’t look back at them, so she turned her wide-eyed attention to Rick. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone was in here, or I would’ve knocked, or, or – ”

 

Rick kept his paternal smile in place, afraid of what his face might give away to the empathetic girl if he let it falter, and squeezed her too-thin shoulder gently, comfortably, in order to shush her. He didn’t need to hear whatever this looked like between him and Daryl. “Don’t worry. Nothin’ to interrupt.”

 

“’Nothing’,” repeated Beth, nodding absently as her eyes roved over Rick’s careful features. “Sure. By the way, do you know where I can find Maggie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading over this chapter again just now, it seems so silly to me and I'm sorry for that. I'm working on getting better, I promise. Please let me know what you think. In other news, TWD IS TOMORROW.


	25. Patterns

.:Pattern:.

 

Rick could feel the sweat trickling down his body sharply, cooling his heated skin with a harsh chill that drained his energy and tensed his already sore muscles. He raised the collar of his plain undershirt to his face to dry it off, dampening the white linen fabric with sweat, and felt the bite of the winter air nipping at his exposed abdomen. For a moment, he considered taking the filthy thing off completely instead of feeling it plaster wetly to his back and chest, but decided against it when he caught Daryl’s eyes on him from across the courtyard.

 

They averted their eyes the moment they met, and Rick felt his body burn for a different reason entirely.

 

It had been days since they completed that puzzle together, and as usual, Daryl seemed to keep his distance entirely after getting too close. It didn’t exactly come as a surprise anymore, but Rick refused to regulate to those standards of sporadic intimacy littered between droughts of detachment. Having his affections being leashed until the other person felt like dealing with them felt hauntingly like his marriage if he were being honest.

 

With a little more force than necessary that his strained muscles groaned under, Rick finished hauling the snow away from their crops and set the shovel in the ground to pop his back. Their harvest so far was meager at best, but with their Thanksgiving rations diminished back down to canned foods, the scrawny carrots and wilted peas were enough to keep their spirits feebly aloft.

 

Rick finished his work quickly and brought the produce inside for Carol to wash and prepare in a watery stew of chicken stock, ignoring her forced, contrite smile with one of his own before heading off to the showers. His body ached to relax and his mind craved to wander, and he was happy to try and forget himself in the lukewarm water if only for a few minutes. They were all starting to feel the heavy effects of winter, and Rick knew that he was going to have to send someone out for supplies again sooner rather than later.

 

Before the staunch sense of duty could smother out any feeling of momentary bliss, Rick geared his thoughts towards a different sort of attention – a kind more alluring, dangerous, aggravating. Daryl.

 

The last feel of his lips on Rick’s tongue brought no clarity or satisfaction to his senses. It just motivated a wild hunger for more, to summon that sharp gasp from the other man once more as he took his mouth with his own, to taste and to touch in full. But that stunned look in Daryl’s crystal eyes brought his indulgence to a grinding halt, the desperate self-reproach that filled his vacant veins a harsh reminder of his natural obligation for patience.

 

The leisure of his shower was short lived as he sobered up and dried off, pausing for a moment to almost guiltily look at himself in the mirror while he ran the towel through his hair. It felt nearly childish to scan along the outline of his body and to try and remember what this body used to look like when it was nourished properly, trained heavily. He was thinner than he had ever been before, Rick knew that much, and he looked hungry, but he was slightly proud that he didn’t yet look ravished by the ending of the world. Strong muscles protruded without any luxury fat to soften them, tendons pulled tight into wiry pistons, hipbones traced the cant of his hips, but it wasn’t grotesque – at least not yet. It surely wasn’t a sight he cared to see looking back in a mirror, but they didn’t fully resemble walkers yet, and that felt almost like an accomplishment.

 

With mixed feelings, Rick pushed his misplaced vanity aside – refinement and good looks were an extravagance of old, and Rick had no time to worry about empty concerns of appeal.

 

Once he was back in his room, Rick drew the map from his nightstand to decide on their next place to search for food and supplies, settling on Franklin as the closest remaining option. Greensville and Woodbury were next on the list should this town be another dead end, but Rick wanted his people as near as possible in case anything were to happen.

 

Rick was running the towel through his damp hair again absentmindedly and looking over the map when he heard someone clear their voice behind him. Thrill spiked in his veins involuntarily when he recognized the gruffly silent presence and turned around to face his company. Daryl stood in the doorway, only approaching when Rick gave him a careful half smile, but still shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his distance.

 

“Hey,” greeted Rick with a nod. “Was hoping you’d stop by.”

 

Daryl’s eyes were guarded, but something seemed to shift behind them at Rick’s words. Similarly, his voice was colored with something hidden just under the surface when he asked, “Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Rick smiled as he hung the wet towel around his neck and put the map away. “I got a supply run for ya.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Rick clenched his jaw to keep his understanding grin to himself, knowing how on edge it would set Daryl if the other man saw his amusement. The anxious disappointment hiding behind Daryl’s aloof posture was all but transparent to Rick now, as he had been on the other side of this conversation not too long ago. It made Rick come closer to Daryl, watching the pressure in the other man’s body shift as he did, and Rick dared a small grin. “Interested?”

 

Daryl stood closer to him than he had since they kissed last, and the proximity made Rick heady with anticipation boiling up inside him. It burned hotter still when Daryl’s eyes once again seemed to fixate on Rick’s mouth, lifted at the corners, and Rick felt the parallels of their role reversals glaringly.

 

“Daryl,” Rick spoke, making Daryl’s attention flit away consciously, down to the ground to safe neutrality. Rick knew the bittersweet comfort in that and hated it, so he chose to be direct. The last thing he wanted was for Daryl to feel that same uncertainty he had. “You need an open invitation or somethin’?”

 

His forthright approach made Daryl look back up, meeting his gaze with a vulnerable buoyancy that he seemed too unassuming to broach, but told Rick everything. Reaching out, Rick slid his fingers up Daryl’s forearm, letting a tender softness blossoming in his heart touch his features warmly. Their friendship had morphed into something else entirely long ago, something more fierce and protective starting from the day they met, cultivating some deep seated allure that moved them to unyielding passion. It was a whirlwind of their time spent together funneling into unbidden fantasy, unspoken and unwelcome for too long. They had already crossed this line together, and Rick didn’t want Daryl nervously stumbling backwards over it.

 

“If it’s my permission yer wanting,” he breathed a whisper against Daryl’s cheek, watching the younger man’s eyes flutter for a moment. “Then that goes without saying.”

 

Wide sapphires flashed up to his gunmetal eyes like live wires, powered on and brought to life by Rick’s approval, and the last thing Rick registered was how appealing Daryl looked when he was amorous. Daryl grabbed the towel around Rick’s neck and dragged it to the floor with a heavy thud, then curled his hand into Rick’s still-damp hair and pulled their lips together eagerly. Smiling into the kiss, Rick happily obliged the younger man and his ambitious mouth, the memory of his most recent screw up still hot in his mind. He didn’t want to push Daryl any further than what he was ready for, but the feel of Daryl pressing his body close made compliance harder than he thought.

 

Daryl felt different in his arms than he had any time before, mouth demanding and unrelenting, all traces of timidity gone and replaced with a carnal curiosity. It was exactly how the archer acted in all other facets of their dynamic together – reserved, guarded, biding his strength for Rick’s ‘okay’, then was a force of ferocious power when he got it. He didn’t give Rick the chance to take the lead and instead let his lips move on their own accord with his hunter-like instincts, making the kiss rough and territorial, and it felt so addictively like Daryl.

 

For just an instant, Daryl pulled back to look Rick in the eyes, something stormy in his eyes that knitted his brows, and Rick used that time to steady himself and quell his rampant yearning. He would be decent, respectable, the kind of man Daryl deserved to –

 

Before he could figure out what kind of man Daryl deserved, calloused hands framed his face and held him very still, and slowly, so slowly, Daryl leaned back in. Rick’s heartrate pitched dizzyingly when he felt the other man’s lips, tender with inexperience, part open and followed suit with eager compliance. He felt Daryl’s tongue against his own experimentally and groaned softly into the kiss, fueled by electric want. Daryl’s body responded to the noise tersely against his, arching up blindly for more contact, and trembling hands swiftly lead them both to the edge of the cot so that this time Rick was seated against Daryl’s will.

 

Rick chuckled, lightheaded in the moment, when Daryl straddled his hips to bring their bodies together again. Nervous, Daryl pulled back to look at him, his fiery eyes now wary from Rick’s sudden amusement, and knitted his brows.

 

“What?” he asked with a skittish gruffness in his voice, as if he worried he did something wrong, but challenged Rick to continue to laugh at him for it. It made Rick pull him close again and wrap his arms around him reassuringly, closing his eyes to let the moment sink in.

 

“Nothin,” Rick promised, feeling Daryl relax a little at his words. “Just thought I went too far last time, is all.”

 

A slight flush ran up Daryl’s throat lusciously as he looked away with a scowl. “I ain’t some dainty flower ya gotta worry ‘bout. Won’t break on ya or anythin’, neither,” growled Daryl.

 

Still smiling, Rick tugged Daryl back with a gentle hand, maneuvering them so that he was laying back on the bed beneath the other man. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Daryl took a second to adjust to the new position, clearly uncomfortable with the endless possibilities their new arrangements offered despite his bold words. His hands clenched the bedsheets on each side of Rick with some restless energy and his taut arms kept himself suspended above the older man. Rick ran his palms up along his strained muscles, over his shoulders and down his back, trying to ease the nerves clearly going mad beneath his fingertips.

 

An intensity was wired between them, pulled tight and drawing them nearer with every baited breath, until the weight of the moment snapped and Daryl leaned down. “You better,” he whispered against Rick’s lips before lapping against them, gaining immediate entry. Daryl seemed to be hunting for that sound again, delving into Rick’s mouth with a possessive curiosity and Rick gave it to him easily, uncontrollably almost.

 

Feeling Daryl domineer the kiss was like a wild animal, a predator, his natural state of being, and it was wholly different than anything Rick had experienced before. Being with a woman was like being called out to a volatile situation that he had to diffuse – the stakes were high, he had to think about every move he made, and there was so much talking involved. Being with Daryl like this was an effortless thing, a matter of action and mutual culmination of thoughtless, hectic devotion. There was no worry of syrupy adulation, of accidentally pulling hair, or of ruining makeup before meeting the in-laws. He could kiss Daryl with all the passion he could muster, and Daryl would kiss him right on back.

 

Before long, their bodies found that same sense of pressing urgency that incited their mouths, consumed by a rhythm so deeply ingrained that it felt visceral, effortless. Rick was honestly surprised that Daryl had provoked all this, that he had let Rick so unconditionally close by taking the lead, but didn’t question it further. It was staggering to see what they could beget, what they could become together when left alone with nothing but wanton whimsy.

 

Being with a man was exhilarating, but being with Daryl was so much more than that. Rick had never felt the stubble of another man graze his face, or the hard contours of a man’s body that was so antithetical to the soft, fragile body of a woman. Most certainly he had never felt the rigid contrast of a thick erection outlined against his own.

 

Rick rolled his hips forward, searching for that perfect pressure, that heated traction that left his jeans tighter than he cared for, and found it along the curve of Daryl’s thigh. Daryl pulled back from the kiss with a gasping groan, lost, but didn’t pull away from the friction tracing between his legs and instead tucked his head against Rick’s neck heavily. He could feel Daryl’s thudding pulse against his neck, his chest, his groin, everywhere the other man touched him. The fact that Daryl was still here, grinding their cocks together firmly, nestled against Rick and struggling to breathe, started to make Rick feel heady with unbridled ambition. 

 

Slowly, pausing with enough time to give the other man warning to his intentions, Rick’s hands crept to the hem of Daryl’s shirt to touch his skin. It was hot and clammy against his fingertips, and Rick felt the beads of sweat pooling in the sensual dip of Daryl’s lower back. He began to lift the shirt, wanting a whole torso bared victim to his hands and mouth, but Daryl reacted faster than Rick could register. 

Daryl recoiled off of him with more grace than Rick thought humanly possible in their current state, even ducking his head to keep from bumping it on the top bunk this time. A cold air filled Rick’s heated, pulsing body, freezing his sweat slickened skin as if he were still outside doing chores.

 

“Little cold fer that, dontcha think?” Daryl said as he yanked down his shirt.

 

Rick sat up slowly, feeling his body resist doing anything that didn’t include Daryl’s, but tried not to look disappointed as he looked up at the other man. “Thought you weren’t some dainty flower?” he spoke lightly, knowing that Daryl would at least simmer down into comfortable banter despite being so tense. This whole dynamic was raucous and new to them both, Rick reminded himself, and their familiar derision likely felt somewhat safe for Daryl.

 

“Didn’t think you’d be tryin’ ta get me naked already,” responded Daryl sheepishly. He didn’t seem to take the bait of Rick’s teasing as he held the hem of his shirt.

 

“I didn’t realize that it was out of the question,” Rick countered before sobering up at the look on Daryl’s face. The normally impenitent man looked embarrassed, apologetic even, and wouldn’t look at Rick. Rick swallowed thickly when he realized that this wasn’t the time or place for their familiar teasing conduct, and thought back to every time Daryl had been caught shirtless before. Between that distressing time he had been worked on by Hershel and the time Rick caught him in the shower, as hazy as that night was, Rick recalled Daryl’s desperation to cover himself. Rick wasn’t positive, but he had a faint inkling as to why Daryl wouldn’t be caught dead without a shirt. He clenched his jaw at the worn memory of the hunter’s body melded together with silvery marks and waved away Daryl’s anxiety. “Hey. I wasn’t thinkin’ right. I shouldn’t have tried to… Don’t worry about it, okay?”

 

Daryl still looked conflicted, and the last thing Rick wanted was him trying to explain himself, so he put on a smile and gestured towards the cell door. “’Sides, it wouldn’t do ta fool around with these cells the way they are.”

 

“Guess it’s a good thing ‘m goin’ on a run, then,” Daryl said, conflict gone from his posture and just like that, they were all business. Rick felt his heart sink a little, knowing full well that this is just what he’d have to expect when he came too close to Daryl’s finicky boundaries, but played along anyway. For Daryl’s sake.

 

“I take it you’re interested?”

 

With a wordless answer, Daryl walked over to Rick’s nightstand and pulled out the map, ironically heedless of any permission when it came to this. Rick cocked a half smile as he watched the other man look over the paper, no doubt memorizing the route in no time at all, before stuffing it back in the drawing with a smirk.

 

“Ain’t that far,” spoke the younger man confidently, leaning against the stand. “Should only be half a day out, if we’re lucky.”

 

You mean if you don’t run into trouble, Rick correct mentally, feeling his brows tighten with reflexive worry. Always the perceptive one, Daryl took a step closer so that their legs were touching, and it wasn’t going to keep Daryl here, safe, but it was enough for now. “I want you in and out. Leave no trace, is that clear?”

 

Daryl chewed at the corners of his thumb thoughtfully before answering. “Is it just me goin’?”

 

“No.” Rick’s answer was automatic and adamant, and that settled it. “I want you to take Oscar with you. He was there with Hershel, he might have a good idea of what to expect if… If you run into anything.”

 

He was met with a reassuring nod, one of the mutual, unspoken gestures that Rick treasured between them, and nodded back. Daryl didn’t question, didn’t argue, didn’t ask for more than Rick could give, and the unconditional trust they held for each other gave Rick a peace he hadn’t felt as long as he could remember. In turn, Rick would stand do right by Daryl, always.

 

In that moment, he felt something powerful surge through him, something stronger than lust, but nothing he cared to give a name to. All he knew is that he desperately wished he could kiss the other man, and resigned himself to giving Daryl the usual space that came routinely after their intimacy. Kissing Daryl was validating, fulfilling, and he could lose himself in their touch, not forgetting all of his mistakes in life, exactly, but for once not punishing himself for them. He didn’t know if he would ever voice that to Daryl, even if he knew how to, but liked to think that the other knew anyway. Perhaps Daryl might even know what it felt like to feel whole when they came together and came undone, too.

Still, Rick couldn’t resist reaching up to touch Daryl’s waist affectionately as he whispered somberly, “Just stay safe.”

 

He wasn’t surprised when Daryl pulled away from his touch, but wasn’t expecting it to be because the younger man drew closer. It caught Rick off guard, having Daryl lean down towards him, hands draped on the top bunk to leverage himself just above Rick’s line of vision, and he held his breath in anticipation.

 

“Will do,” he whispered as he leaned in, capturing Rick’s mouth once more with his own. It was chaste enough – as chaste as Daryl Dixon could be, really – and it was invigorating to feel that chasm close between them.

 

Rick did nothing to hide the foolish, fantastic smile that crinkled his eyes when Daryl parted moments later, could do nothing other than beam up at the other man in placidity. Daryl’s lips quirked in a half smile at his expression as he straightened and backed away, and Rick knew that he probably looked like a grizzly, grinning idiot, but couldn’t be bothered. It felt like whispers to stop worrying, assurances that he hadn’t screwed up yet, promises of more to come, and Rick reveled in it.

 

Daryl parted shortly after to go meet with Oscar about their upcoming trip in the next three days, leaving Rick to lay back down in his cot and regret having already taken a shower today.

 

~~~~~

 

The day of their run came too soon for Rick’s liking. He knew they still needed various items of various importance – food, medicine, ammo and the like – but never felt as prepared as he should whenever anyone had to leave the fence. Stifling a yawn, Rick walked down to the Ford pickup where Daryl and Oscar mulled about, geared up and ready to go. Ready to leave somewhere miles away, far from where Rick could keep tabs on them, too distant to haul them out if they got backed into a corner. He begged his stomach to settle, for his thoughts to relax somewhat, so that his face might not show the dismal feeling that haunted him. At the very least, he wanted his parting smile to be earnest.

 

Nonetheless, the smile that pulled at his lips came with far less resistance than he thought when Daryl turned towards him. For the past three days, they had stopped each other for quick kisses when they could, each time feeling out one another’s boundaries zealously, slowly playing out comfort zones. Really, it still felt rather hasty to Rick and his ancient principles, but when his fingers dipped beneath fabric and found hot flesh and backbone divots, those convictions seemed arbitrary at best.

 

“’Mornin’,” Rick greeted them, still smiling with startling ease. The churning in his gut wasn’t gone, but it became somewhat tolerable when Daryl nodded back, a half smile dancing on his lips.

 

Once more, the three of them went over the route and the supplies that they were lacking, not because Rick thought they needed it again, but because he needed it. Whether he was stalling was beside the point, as the rational part of him knew they were burning precious early-morning daylight, but if for just a little longer he felt like he could keep them safe, it was almost worth it.

 

“Be on the lookout,” he reminded them needlessly as they got in the cab of the truck. “If this goes south – ”

 

“It won’t,” Daryl interrupted, reaching out from the open window to grasp Rick’s arm bracingly. It shocked him of his worry to have Daryl initiate contact for once, and he hoped Daryl couldn’t feel his blood surge in his veins at his mere touch.

 

Rick swallowed thickly at the other’s certainty, allowing Daryl’s confidence to assure him a little. Daryl was a man of close calls, measuring his life in narrow inches and perfect timing, and while Rick wished the hunter would widen his margin of error now and then, had to admit that he had an affinity for serendipity. Resigned, Rick nodded as he squeezed Daryl’s arm back, tenderly, letting the fondness he felt fill his eyes for just a moment despite their company. He then looked over at Oscar, ordered them both to be safe, before withdrawing to open the gate for their departure.

 

Up in the watchtower, Carol peaked her sleepy head out from the door, a thick wool blanket around her frail body as she waived them off as well.

 

“Don’t be gone too long, you two,” she called down.

 

Daryl waved her worries away as he did with Rick, and she looked just as placated as he felt by the hunter’s dismissal as she went back into the tower. Then, with a rush of sound unsettling the pre-morning calm, Daryl started the engine and pulled out slowly, shaded eyes on Rick as left the gate. When they cleared the fence, Rick yanked it shut and chained it back up, noting the handful of stray walkers caught in Daryl’s various traps around their outpost.

 

Silently, Rick stood there, propped up against the fence until he could no longer hear the rumble of their pickup, and waited even longer after that. The first incandescent tendrils of warm daybreak cast a chain-link pattern across his face, and he took a moment to bask in the plumate morning veil, then turned to head towards the tower. There was no way he could find sleep again in this brittle state, and sooner opted to watch the sun rise with Carol than let his hazy thoughts continue to run rampant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you guys think as I delve into a little thing called "smut". I have no clue how to traverse it, much like these two seem, so please help keep me in line if this gets too... awkward haha. I really value all of your opinions and feedback, and it means so much to me that you're still reading. Thank you, and I'll see you next week with some scarier stuff!


	26. Haze

.:Haze:.

 

The ride was slow going and quiet, and Oscar couldn’t help but feel antsy as the silence stretched on. The road was bumpy on the uneven pavement, all sun-bleached and overgrown with weeds between the cracks in the asphalt, and Daryl would occasionally swerve to avoid wreckage and walkers alike. Morning was barely peaking out over the glowing ebb of the horizon, and Oscar was astonished to hear the tune of wildlife surrounding them. There was hardly ever any fauna around the prison, even when things were still normal and they’d be working the yard shift, but it was always kind of a reprieve when he got to hear it. It felt like the one thing in the world that didn’t aim for the target on his back, that wasn’t a risk to him or his loved ones. Now, however, being on the outside posed the biggest threat.

 

Daryl sat next to him wordlessly, cold as ice and far different than how he was just a while ago with Rick. Oscar knew his standoffish nature wasn’t anything to do with him – there were dudes back in prison that were just like the hunter. Mean, sovereign, hard-asses that unnerved even the patrol, but these thugs ended up being big softies with those closest to them. ‘Course, it was usually because they had more to do with each other than just being mere inmates, like Big Tiny, and Oscar was starting to feel a similar sort of questionable voyeurism with these two.

 

“So, you and the boss, huh?”

 

Oscar didn’t think twice about speaking on the subject, but wasn’t surprised when Daryl’s eyes narrowed into fine points in warning. He and Daryl were cool, likely on the best terms out of anyone else at the prison except for him and Axel, though Daryl’s reaction didn’t seem to take kindly to the implication. 

 

“The hell are you talking about?” Daryl’s tone was as foreboding as his gaze, eyes flickering to Oscar’s from the corner of his eye as if he’d been caught doing something wrong and was ready to roll up his sleeves for it. It was a familiar reaction to this kind of thing in Oscar’s experience, and he kept his attitude nonchalant and indifferent.

 

“You know, the top brass. The cop.”

 

“What about us?” The other man seemed to be matching the forcibly detached atmosphere with his own white-knuckled apathy.

 

“Well,” Oscar stepped carefully around the subject as he glanced at Daryl’s clenched jaw. He even seemed to be picking up on Rick’s traits, and held back a smirk. “You guys seem close s’all.”

 

“We all are,” came the curt reply.

 

“You two seem closer.”

 

It was obvious now what Oscar was saying, lain out in the open to welcome or reject, and Daryl seemed to straighten up at the pointed atmosphere. There wasn’t the option to leave it as an open ended question, something ambiguous and vague shrouded in the safety of sidestepped questions. Daryl seemed acutely aware of that based on his posture, and Oscar could see this going one of two ways.

 

“You got somethin’ ta say about it?” Daryl’s response was ownership in its own right, and Oscar released a breath. He had been preparing for some backlash, and nearly regretted bringing up the other man’s business in the first place.

 

“Naw, man,” he shrugged, letting loose the tension from the cab like a deflating balloon, stretched thin and slowly composing itself again. “Just thought it might not be a bad idea to look into some curtains or somethin’. Figure we could all appreciate a little more privacy.”

 

Daryl stayed silent at the suggestion, seeming to pick up on the undertones of Oscar’s idea with a reserved assiduity, but with far less nervous venom in his eyes. Oscar watched out the window at the dying world around them in the mutual lull. He had been trying to be a wingman, his backup, whatever this was, just like he had been for Big Tiny, but understood that Daryl was of a different metal than Tiny had been. Whatever the hell was going on between the two heads of the pack, it wasn’t any of his business.

 

It was sometime later, after a good half hour of avoiding geeks and broken down vehicles, that Daryl pulled out a sight for sore, aching, thirsty eyes. Oscar watched with a longing intensity, like he’d been stranded in a desert alone with a mirage to remind him of the good times he could no longer reach, as the hunter slid the filter of a cigarette into his mouth. It was like a dream he forgot he envisioned, a habit he forgot he had, a comfort he forgot existed, and the nostalgic haze of smoke wafted as a fantasy just outside of his grasp. He almost wish he never remembered when Daryl tossed the box out the window abruptly.

 

“Ey, man,” Oscar inhaled through his nose, feeling the second-hand fill his lungs with a tender tincture. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

 

“I don’t,” Daryl said flatly around the butt of the cigarette. It bobbed with his words, building up ash and dissolving out the rushing window. “Not inside, anyway. ’S the last thing my ma ever did.” He said it with a jarring ease, like it was his own inside joke and Oscar just wasn’t the target audience, then seemed to pick up on Oscar’s quiet reception and continued on soberly. “’Sides, I don’t want Lil’ Asskicker bein’ around it.”

 

Oscar tried not to sound too urgent when he asked, “You got any more of those?”

 

Daryl took a long, savory drag on the cigarette and dusted the cherry-blackened end outside, exhaling a billow of smog before responding. “All out.” When the burning strip of nicotine scorched down to the filter, Daryl took the butt and stamped it out on the dash, presumably favoring scorch marks over leaving a trail. Oscar watched outside again, staring out into the trees, letting the haze of the smoky cab consume him with thoughts of the past other than just bad habits when he suddenly thought of something. Of someone. Someone he also stopped smoking indoors for.

 

“You got any family?” he asked after a long pause, turning to face the hunter.

 

He seemed unaffected by the abruptness of the question and just shrugged his shoulder heavily. “Just them.”

 

Oscar turned back to the window, feeling a mixture of faded nostalgia coated in a withered sheen of helplessness as he echoed Daryl’s words in his head. He had a family, before he was put away for what he promised was the last time. And it _was_ the last time, but this wasn’t what he’d been expecting when he imagined that euphoric walk out, tailed by escorts he wouldn’t have to ever see again. With how pissed Shawna was the day he got locked up for breaking and entering, Oscar wasn’t sure what he expected when he got loose, but it wasn’t this. Anything but this.

 

“What about you?”

 

Daryl was watching his reflection in the windshield, slowly dimming with the growing daylight, and his face looked more welcoming than it had been since they’d left Rick and the rest of them earlier. “Yeah,” Oscar nodded absently, lost in thought. “My boy Adrian.”

 

“I’m sorry, man,” whispered Daryl, and as sincere as it was, it jolted Oscar from his sentiment with a pounding sense of transgression, roaring in his veins with defiance.

 

With that same strife swallowing him whole, he made the only effort he could see and grabbed for it with unyielding candor. “Don’t be,” he spoke, firm in every way he was able to be. The first thing he likely should be was ‘sorry’, but it was the last thing he wanted to be. Hearing Daryl’s words, his apology, his _empathy_ made this whole goddamn world worse. It made it real. It made the consequences real, and the outcomes absolute, and gave him no room to deny it any longer. But denying it was all he could do, whether he was locked away in prison or free to roam hell itself. It was all he could do, and he needed to do something. “Don’t be, ‘cause he ain’t dead. Knowing his mama, I bet you they’re hiding out with her parents right now. It was the first thing she did when I got sentenced, you know? I bet anything.”

 

It was enough to soothe Oscar, at least, though Daryl still didn’t look convinced. His tone, however, was optimistic for Oscar’s sake. “Oh yeah? Where’s that at?”

 

“Atlanta.”

 

Daryl’s face told Oscar too much than he could bear to look at, and he felt a seizing tug in his chest that was like all the air rushing up to come out in a choking sob. He swallowed it back down, keeping his mouth shut, though he didn’t feel any less hollow inside for it. After a moment of silence stretching on, Daryl asked, “You gonna go find ‘em?”

 

Oscar was ashamed in the hesitation of his reply, and knew it answered Daryl’s question more honestly than any bravado he could masquerade in. Still, he nodded his head just a fraction. “I might. I think about it all the time.” There was a rawness to his answer that uncovered a dirty truth, and he was grateful to the other man for glazing over it tactfully. It wasn’t a good answer, but it was all he could give right now.

 

“Reckon we can spare a gun if you go. I can talk to Rick ‘bout it.”

 

The sentiment was crushing Oscar. He’d spent the last four years locked up in that prison and knew even less about the world and the walkers than his new companions did. He knew on too deep a level to ignore that he didn’t possess what it took yet to survive like this, and he couldn’t help but think that the others knew it as well, that it was the only reason Rick let them stay. The fact that Daryl, at least, had confidence in Oscar, so much that he would even convince Rick to ration out vital supplies to him, was more than he could ask for.

 

“Thanks. I’ll think about it,” he replied simply, honestly. He didn’t think he could stop wondering about it even if he wanted to. Oscar knew that his face right now was anything but confident, that his negative self-regard was painfully noticeable, and the apprehensive look on Daryl only clenched his stomach into tighter knots.

 

“I had a brother,” Daryl opened up to the rocky disquiet that settled between them. Oscar nodded silently, having overheard others talk about him, but never hearing what ever became of him. It seemed obvious enough by the way the others would respond to the absence of the elder Dixon.

 

“What happened to ‘em?”

 

Daryl paused, chewing at his lip before answering. “Same thing that happened to everyone else in the goddamn world.”

 

This time it was Oscar’s turn to apologize, but Daryl waved him off like he did with anyone else’s sympathy strewn about. “Don’t be,” he said gruffly. “Asshole made his choice.” Daryl’s eyes were tight with some unspoken feeling, though his words sounded hollowed out, as if he’d been carving out any emotion in those words for a long, painful time. “’Sides, it’s probably better like this. Figure he’d be giving us hell to pay if he were still around. Better he haunts us from the grave than find our sorry asses any day.”

 

~~~~~

 

“Those from you ‘n Rick?” Oscar could hear the hope in his voice, but Daryl’s shaking head quelled it mercilessly. He swallowed and tried again. “Walkers?”

 

“Too deliberate.” Daryl was kneeling down in the dirt, tracing an outline of cracked footprints through dried mud. They had all once been optimistic when they first found this greenhouse that the coming rain and snow of the winter season would help keep them prosperous, and were careful to close off the entrance from walkers. But now, it was utterly destroyed, in shambles of glass and green and ruin.

 

There were messy footprints leading to and from the greenhouse, scattered around and staggered as if there’d been a scuffle, the ground all torn up. The plants were all either emptied or dying, then the shack itself smashed to glimmering debris.

 

“Whatever it was,” Daryl stood up from his crouched position and cracked his neck loudly. “It was done a few days ago. Looks like whoever did this must’ve moved on by now.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“We will be,” replied Daryl calmly, crossbow in hand.

 

Oscar was unsettled to say the least as they approached each house in the wealthy suburb, preparing himself mentally, emotionally, to turn the corner again and bear witness to another horrible reveal of carnage. Of needless brutality and sick sadism that he didn’t even witness in prison, where it belonged. Of the owners of this malignity being perched on a porch or lain on a bed, smiling into their scopes as they greeted their visitors with the pull of a trigger.

 

But that moment never came, that adrenaline never finding fulfillment, and Oscar started to release the breath he had been holding ever since they parked near the greenhouse. 

 

They each had a duffle bag and backpack slung around them, already filling up with items on the checklist – food, weapons, medicine, anything that they could salvage. There were plenty of old, dusty blankets to take for the coming winter, expiring toothpaste, kitchen knives and cutlery to replace their gore-rusted ones. As they scoured each house for supplies, Oscar realized how natural it was to fall behind Daryl’s lead out here in the open, not unlike the ease of yielding to Rick’s leadership back at the prison. Daryl’s careful movements and silent footsteps made Oscar wonder if the man had ever burgled back in an earlier life, and found himself relaxed enough to let his mind wander. 

 

Breaking in to locked doors or hauling through busted windows was familiar enough for Oscar. Going house to house with bags in search of goodies, smiling triumphantly whenever they hit upon a good haul, racing to the next house for more – it was too much an old, bittersweet memory. The first and only time they had taken Adrian trick-or-treating, he was too young to do anything but chill in the stroller with those wide, chocolate brown eyes of his. It was more an experience for him and Shawna, their first time celebrating Halloween as a whole family, and hell if Oscar could remember what she had them all dress up as. There were pictures somewhere, but he doubted he’d ever see those memories again.

 

Swallowing thickly, Oscar stepped through the hallway, looking through the emptied picture frames and wondering what became of his while Daryl continued on through the house, stopping from room to room with his crossbow drawn. Oscar felt something split beneath his foot with a sharp crack and looked down to see a shattered frame, this one still holding an old picture. He hesitated for a moment before leaning down and plucking it from its wreckage, wiping off the glass and the dust to expose a family.

 

Father, mother, son, all smiling up at him happily.

 

“Where are you now?” Oscar whispered to the picture, to himself, to nothing at all and held on to the hope that the family made it out and were taking refuge somewhere, safe and sound. For his sake.

 

A loud crash pierced his thoughts and, without any pause or indecision, Oscar tossed the picture and drew his weapon to race towards the noise. There was clamoring, cursing, and Oscar’s adrenaline kicked back into full gear as it raced through his veins and spurred him through the door, nearly splintering it off its hinges as he did so. He stopped for only a moment to process what was happening – Daryl on the ground, a bookcase on top of him, and a small body on top of that clawing towards Daryl's face.

 

"Shit!"

 

Something fierce exploded in Oscar at Daryl's voice, pitched with urgency, and sent him barreling into the small walker. They crashed to the floor together, a mess of reeking limbs and snarling instinct, and Oscar got a hold of the walker's head just like Rick showed him. Before he could plunge his jackknife in, though, he paused. The thrashing body pinned beneath him looked nothing like the child from the picture, all soul-gouged and biting for his flesh, and for a sickening moment, it was Adrian beneath his weight.

 

"Kill the sumbitch!" Daryl's strained voice helped carry his knife into its skull, over and over, stricken with violent grief until he felt a pain in his hand distract from the pain in his chest.

 

Pulling away slowly, hand throbbing, heart racing, Oscar climbed off the small corpse and turned towards Daryl, feeling specks of spoiled blood on his face as he grimaced. Daryl was still struggling against the wood bookcase when Oscar came over to give him a hand, hissing through his teeth when he felt his wrist splinter with a pop. Together, they leveraged the shelf up enough for Daryl to slide out from under, maneuvering through the dropped trinkets and shattered baubles. "I got you, man," Oscar exhaled as he let the shelf fall onto the ground, avoiding the child-walker as he joined Daryl seated against the wall.

 

“You can keep that gun, by the way,” Oscar spoke, head swimming through a whirlpool of emotions. 

 

Daryl adjusted himself so that his right leg was sticking out and rolled up his pant leg to inspect the damage as he asked, “What changed yer mind?”

 

Oscar didn’t answer, not wanting to bring it to life with words, but Daryl followed his gaze to the prone remains of the child that tried to get the best of him moments ago. He feels like he’s dying inside, being torn to shreds and flayed open for reality to sink in to. He doesn’t cry – he had learned a long time ago in prison not to cry around others – but he knows that Daryl’s reading his face like an open book when he says for the second time today, “’S rough, man. I’m sorry.”

 

And this time, Oscar nods and says, “Me, too,” because this time, he knows it’s real. He knows there’s no hiding it, and he can’t keep the words from tumbling out of his mouth. 

 

“It was easier, sometimes, bein’ in jail. Bein’ locked in with the worst of the world meant that I didn’t have to worry about Adrian. Or Shawna.” Daryl just sits and lets him confess his sins, and he doesn’t even care that his words are laced with guilt. “It almost felt like I could keep them safe from far away. Ya know, still be a dad, a good man. But it turns out, the worst of the world was on the outside while I had no idea. How fucked is that, man?” 

 

And before he can stop himself, he sobs once, twice, chest heaving with guilt and promises of heartbreak when no one else could hear him mourn. Daryl squeezed his shoulder comfortingly before reaching into his front jean pocket and pulling out a crumbled mess of paper and tobacco. 

 

“Thought you were all out?” Oscar looks from the cigarettes to Daryl, who shrugs sheepishly.

 

“Thought you were leavin’.”

 

He offered one of the bent cigarettes to Oscar with the lighter, and Oscar tried to smile as he accepted it, lit it, and took a drag gratefully. The loving taste of nicotine filled his mouth and lungs as he continued to inhale, hoping to blacken out the pain with the haze of something familiar. 

 

“What were you doin’ in here, anyway?” Oscar asked through mouthfuls of bitter air.

 

Daryl shrugged, flicking the lighter open and closed idly as he looked around the boy’s room. Curtains of dust filtered through the window and cast in the setting sun, aging the room eerily. “Never lived in a neighborhood like this. Wanted to see what suburban life was like.”

 

Oscar looked back over to the corpse and was filled with a blackened humor. “Not much to see anymore. Doesn’t look like there’s anything we’d need in here, anyway.”

 

Again, Daryl shrugged, as if it would deflect any further questions and kept his gaze away as he said, “We never could afford shit like this when I was growin’ up.” He gestured to the cracked globe and the mangled model ship, all broken to shit from the fallen bookshelf. Pocketing the lighter, Daryl reached for a small telescope near the window and turned it over in his hands while he smiled ruefully. “Figured the kids might like somethin’ like this, ya know?”

 

Cracking a small smile around his cigarette, Oscar plucked the telescope from Daryl’s hands and wormed it into his duffle bag, angling it so that it mostly fit. His childhood had been bereft of things like this as well, and had tried to make up for it with Adrian before getting busted.

 

They shared the moment, thick with smoke and unspoken recognition of something Oscar had known for a while. This was his family now. This was his only family. He didn’t know how to bring himself to look for people who had left him a long time ago, didn’t know what the right thing to do was, didn’t know how to chase after ghosts. But what he did know was how to manage the guilt. 

 

He’d do right by these people. 

 

They put out their cigarettes and left the room, Daryl hobbling on his good ankle and Oscar cradling his wrist to him, making it to the car just as the sun was dipping beneath the horizon. Oscar was allowed to drive home and that, at least, felt good. On the way home, propping his feet up on the dash gingerly, Daryl fell asleep and that felt even better. Promising, even. 

 

Oscar was smiling through the tears that threatened to fall, mourning one family and sanctioning another all in the same heart. 

 

From a distance, in the growing dark, they passed the garbage dump and Oscar wondered for a moment why it looked like it had been opened. He wiped the grief from his eyes and slowed down, trying to see the junkyard in the rear-views, but had to refocus on the road when he began to swerve off the asphalt.

 

~~~~~

 

They made it to the prison gates just as twilight was fading to black, and sure enough, Rick was perched at the tower with his rifle at one side and Carl at the other. He was down the building in record time to let them in, clearly relieved by their return and was joined shortly by his son. As Rick came to Daryl's side, Oscar watched the two men interact, appraising one another like animals reunited with keen eyes and lingering touches. Instantly, Rick seemed to pick up on Daryl’s pain, how Daryl favored his right leg just slightly when he got out of the cab, and his face tightened with an unspoken question between the two.

 

“’M fine,” the hunter waived him away, and Oscar watched him put more weight on his foot than he had been earlier, as if formalities or appearances still mattered, as if putting on a show would quell Rick’s intuition.

 

Sure enough, Rick didn’t let up on the situation, instead directing his question towards Oscar. “What happened?”

 

“Just a scuffle,” Daryl answered for him, now standing almost perfectly straight. Oscar knew his right leg was killing him by the way Daryl had let him drive for once, and knew the hunter wasn’t hiding it from Rick, either. “Got clumsy, ‘n wasn’t think’ straight.” When Rick’s brows tightened, Daryl quickly nodded towards Oscar. “Oscar was there.”

 

It seemed to speak volumes to Rick, who turned towards him with a pained look on his face. “You saved him?” he asks hesitantly, as if he was reluctant for the answer. Oscar gave a slight tilt of his head in tentative affirmation and Rick nodded back, albeit unevenly. “You have my thanks.”

 

“Might wanna see about that leg,” Oscar noted, and Rick grimaced at that.

 

“We’ll have Hershel take a look,” he said, directed more to Daryl than to Oscar. Daryl still refused to shift his weight off of his busted ankle, staring at them both defiantly, though didn’t resist when Rick took his filled bags from him. Turning back to Oscar, Rick nodded towards his wrist and said, “He can check you out, too.”

 

Of all people, Daryl let Carl help him up the field to the prison, and Oscar smiled as he watched them horse around, getting scolded by Rick when they nearly fell, and glowing in each other’s presence. His heart still hurt for Adrian and Shawna, and this wasn’t a family he ever expected to have, but he’d keep them safe at all costs. 

 

~~~~~

 

It was later, after everyone else had gone to bed, that Oscar found himself at Daryl’s cell, peering inside to find that the man already had a visitor. He wasn’t surprised when he found Rick there at his bedside, but it was rather unexpected when he saw Rick stroking Daryl’s hand with his thumb as the hunter slept. 

 

Hesitantly, Oscar cleared his throat, and Rick looked over his shoulder and seemed to pull his hand away in reflex, as if Oscar’s presence suddenly made the gesture something far too intimate. When Rick came out to meet him, he didn’t comment about it, so neither did Oscar and instead asked in a low whisper, “Homes’ doin’ alright?”

 

Rick nodded, face looking weary and ebbed with fatigue as he ran a hand through his wavy hair. 

 

“’S just a sprain. He’ll be okay soon,” Rick spoke with relief riding his voice, and Oscar mirrored his ease with a crooked smile. It was then that Rick looked him up and down, stopping at his wrist wrapped in a splint, as if the man suffered from carpal tunnel. “What about you?”

 

“Fracture,” Oscar replied. They were lucky it was only a minor fracture, but the splint did keep him from holding a gun, a knife, even one of his cook books.

 

Still, Rick smiled at the news, at everyone being back under his watch. “Thank you, Oscar,” he thanked again. “I’d shake yer hand if I could.” Instead, Rick opted to clasp him on the shoulder again respectfully, and Oscar could only be so happy by the appreciation as his memory pestered him with something dark.

 

“There’s something you need to know,” swallowed Oscar, and immediately, Rick sobered up and was all business. “The junkyard, where you ‘n Daryl took those walkers… Looked like it had been opened.”

 

Rick stilled with an icy air, muscle in his jaw clenching and all celebration gone from his voice when he asked, “Are you positive?”

 

“No,” Oscar admitted. “I couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked like the gate was wide open.” It set a chill between them and Oscar could see the cogs burning midnight oil in Rick’s head, pacing out his next plan, measuring out his reaction. He felt almost guilty for bringing it up, but knew it was the right choice when Rick nodded and thanked Oscar for letting him know.

 

That was Oscar’s sign to leave for bed, and Rick turned back to the sleeping man in the cell and reached for his hand again absentmindedly, not even waiting for Oscar to leave this time to intertwine their fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the plans of it, that's going to be the last of the other people's POV for a while. I apologize if you didn't like it when I did that, but I will be spending the next few weeks focusing on both the plot and Rick and Daryl's intimacy. After all, that's why you're here, right? :) Thank you again for sticking with this.


	27. Wanderlust

.:Wanderlust:.

 

There’s an excited vibe for the next few days as the group rummaged through Daryl and Oscar’s findings -- stocking up the food, caring for the weapons, stashing away the pills -- and everyone had a job to keep them busy. A rare side of Carl shone through when he pulled out the telescope and began to plan where he’d set it up with a boyish smile on his face, and Maggie and Glenn eagerly helped set up the curtains they’d salvaged at each cell. It offered a privacy the group hadn’t had in a long time, and there was a happy buzz around the prison for most of them.

 

Daryl, however, had spent the last few days in bed, clawing at the walls, too impatient to read the books Carol brought him, and he turned most people away from visiting with his sour mood. He would let Rick in on occasion, but Rick had something darker gnawing at his attention distractedly. Even now, behind the safety of the cell curtain, with Daryl pressed up against him, Rick found he could hardly focus until Daryl began to squirm in his lap. 

 

They were seated on Daryl’s bed, Daryl tucked between Rick’s knees and leaning back against his chest, and Rick hugging Daryl against him tightly. The nightmares had been back at full force thanks to Daryl’s close call, and he felt that same creeping protection coming over him that he thought he had long since buried with his wife. If Oscar hadn’t been there… Rick squeezed Daryl to him tighter and rested his forehead against the broad shoulders. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he admitted finally.

 

“What for?”

 

He couldn’t see Daryl’s face, but by the sounds of his voice, Rick had caught him off guard. “For sending you out there.” Daryl actually snorted dismally, humor hollowed out.

 

“Better me than anyone else.” There was no conceit in his answer, Rick noted, only blunted honesty that told him that Daryl might understand the stonewall cupidity he felt thrumming in his clenched fists, his strained will. He trusted Daryl wholeheartedly in every aspect he’d ever known, and knew that Daryl was only alive this long because of his relentless self-preservation. But that still didn’t stop the familiar rush of the possessive need to shelter and protect, to pick up and dust off the dynamic that he had known his whole life. 

 

It was an old instinct, antique in its rationale that his pa had taught him when he’d first started dating. He had seen the charmed dynamic of old Southern chivalry between his parents long enough, had watched Shane do it with his various girlfriends plenty of times, to mimic it to a tee with Lori, with Carl. 

 

“Nearly lost you, though,” said Rick, almost to reinforce his reason for allowing his possessive whims to tempt him, to overshadow the guilt of fantasizing about it.

 

“Nah,” Daryl spoke with better humor than Rick felt. “Didn’t even come close.”

 

Rick’s voice took on an almost scolding tone, like when he used to talk to Carl about looking both ways to cross the street, and he hated it. “Daryl, if Oscar hadn’t been there…” He let the words trail off, not needing to hear what his mind could come up with if Oscar hadn’t been there.

 

“He was there,” he reaffirmed, as if he knew where Rick’s mind was heading towards and tried to intervene. It wasn’t enough.

 

Whether it was bills or walkers, Rick made sure Lori never had to deal with them. If he was a good enough man, husband, father, he was told, she’d never need to dirty her hands with anything further than making dinner or changing Carl. He worked himself to skin and bone to make sure of it, and even though things got harder when society ended, he never stopped. He had found a kitchen for her and the other women to stay in on Hershel’s farm, places to do their laundry, to raise their children, and it had almost been enough. 

 

But it wasn’t enough. His withered sense of gentlemanly chivalry hadn’t amounted to anything in this world other than a broken marriage, a cold child, a late wife. It was pivotal, monumental in his understanding of the world and his place in it. It was no longer enough to protect others by giving them a kitchen, a house, a child and calling them domestic, calling them safe. Those words were no longer synonymous, this world no longer domestic, but it sure as hell didn’t stop him from feeling those tantalising urges of harboring Daryl to himself, to protection.

 

“Had a bad feeling about that run from the start,” Rick said, knowing it didn’t make a difference to Daryl. 

 

Daryl, predictably, wasn’t fazed by Rick’s disclosure and just continued to squirm in Rick’s lap like it hurt to sit still as he reasoned with him. “‘S no different than any other run. Ya never know what to expect.”

 

Rick knew Daryl was trying his best to appease his worry, his fantasy, but they were almost sinful pangs of his previous dictatorship, as he knew he could keep Daryl here, in the prison, near him. He barely dared to bring it to life with words, but felt his voice take on a life, a shameful hope of its own, as he questioned in a lowered voice, “If I asked, would you stay?”

 

So close against his body, Rick could feel Daryl’s reaction against his entire length. A muted rebellion shook through his body as he bristled at the prospect and a peculiar restraint laced his words tightly together, painfully.

 

“Don’t ask me to.”

 

There was a raw vulnerability sheathed in those words that Rick picked up on immediately, recognizing it for what it was and quickly swallowed down those damning urges. Daryl would never deny Rick or what Rick asked of him, he knew, but with that mutual agreement was an unconditional trust of Rick never abusing that loyalty. Rick let the guilt wash over him, knowing Daryl would never be happy as some Susie-Homemaker housewife, and squeezed his waist gently in apologize. 

 

Daryl winced and seemed to recoil from the movement, flinching from the pressure, which drew Rick away questioningly. 

 

“Sorry,” muttered Daryl quickly, knowing that Rick noticed and that he couldn’t hide it.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Outlining a shrug with tense shoulders, Daryl at the very least tried to play it off cool, no different than he had with his sprained ankle when he knew it would worry Rick. “Just messed up my back when I landed, s’all.”

 

“Do you want me to grab more pain pills?” Rick was already halfway up when Daryl shook his head and settled back down behind the stiff body.

 

“No,” he said. “Gave ‘em to Oscar anyway.”

 

Rick smiled softly at the stubborn man between his arms, resting his chin on his shoulder and feeling firsthand how tightly Daryl was pulled beneath his skin. “Then would you let me help, at least?”

 

Daryl seemed disbelieving when he asked, “How could you possibly help?” 

 

“Well,” Rick paused, knowing this question could beget him a variety of responses, but continued on with a racing heart. “Reckon I could massage it for you.”

 

“The hell would you do that for?” Daryl reacted, his question seeming to come from embarrassment at the prospect rather than offense. Rick ran the bridge of his nose along the edge of Daryl’s jawline soothingly, and while it didn’t seem to calm him down any, it at least seemed to drain the brash reaction down to a shivering simmer.

 

“Because it would help your back loosen up.”

 

“M’ back’ll be fine.” Swallowing hard, Daryl tried to deflect his reasoning, but Rick was ready for that.

 

He pressed his lips to Daryl’s neck and kissed up to his ear, one after another, loving the feel of Daryl coil tight in his arms and arching to meet his mouth with his neck instinctively, as if urging Rick further. “And because I’d want to,” Rick rumbled lowly against his ear, letting his words wash hotly over Daryl’s skin and clutching him even closer as he trembled vulnerably. A slight tilt of his head encouraged Rick further, pulling Daryl’s earlobe between his teeth and nipping at it gently, and Rick indulged in the curl of Daryl’s back it set in compulsion. Daryl was silent at that, susceptible to Rick’s mouth gliding over his neck and shoulder, and Rick was mindful to add, “You’re welcome to stop me anytime.”

 

That seemed to persuade Daryl, who nodded softly, and Rick was quick to shift their positions, staying careful of Daryl’s ankle the whole time as he laid Daryl down on his back and balanced himself above the other man.

 

Rick had long since become accustomed to Daryl’s boundaries in regards to his clothing, and knew the magnitude of what they were doing, of what Daryl was doing. He kept his movements slow, steady, predictable, and paid equal parts attention to Daryl’s lips as his hands traveled down Daryl’s button up. There was a nervousness to Daryl’s kiss, his hands pulling Rick against him, clenching at Rick’s own shirt desperately as Rick worked on the first button. His heart was that of a caged bird beneath Rick’s fingers, frantic and restless, and before Rick could even finish with the first button, Daryl broke the kiss and stopped Rick’s hands with his own shuddering ones, second thoughts written all over his face.

 

“Rick…” he breathed, not enough air between them as they panted against each other. He repeated himself, as if Rick’s name is almost enough to anchor him to his words. “Rick, I ain’t…” Daryl stops again and swallows the rest of his words, and Rick can see for himself the lump in his throat they cause as he clams up.

 

“Ready?” Still panting, Rick attempted to finish his sentence for him, so careful of crossing his boundaries that he’d sooner expect the other isn’t ready than assuming that he is.

 

Daryl shook his head, looking mortified as he squeezed his eyes shut tight like he meant to block out the world from his next words, as if saying it to the void behind his eyelids was easier than saying it to Rick. Slowly, Rick ran his thumb over Daryl’s fluttering pulse soothingly before Daryl swallowed again and said, “It ain’t nothin’ ta look at.”

 

Rick knit his brows in confusion, feeling a small, nagging inkling of what Daryl was getting at as the words sluggishly registered in his mind, and it hurt him to even consider it. Eventually, Daryl dared to open his eyes to look up at him, scanning for his reaction, then turned his head to the side, face glowing with something that made Rick sick. “I ain’t pretty ‘r nothin’,” Daryl spoke with feigned humor, though the fact that he wouldn’t meet Rick’s eyes was betraying his indifference. His voice was as fragile as glass, and a cold prickling stabbed at his heart from Daryl’s words. His blood seemed to run dangerously thin, causing a staggering sense of vertigo as he registered what Daryl meant.

 

He was ashamed. 

 

“Daryl…” Rick choked out, fighting for something to say over the whirlwind rushing inside of him. There was something appalling about this, and an aching pain wrenched open his heart to pour out hot rage into his veins. Daryl -- smug, protective, cunning, isolated, indestructible Daryl -- had been given reason to believe that he wasn’t worth a damn to sore eyes, and Rick could feel his jaw clench adamantly. He was at a loss of what to say, and mentally cursed himself for never being as good at talking out his feelings as anyone needed him to be.

 

He had nothing to say, but everything to prove as he pulled his hands away from Daryl’s shirt to rip his own from his chest, tossing the stained thing over his head and onto the ground to be forgotten.

 

In the soft candlelight, Rick groped for Daryl’s hand and pressed it to his warm, exposed body, palming his scarred over gunshot wound together, hand in hand, eyes locked on each other. “Did I ever tell you how I got this?” Rick spoke with a quiet calm, as if the moment were made of precious glass and hung in the air delicately between them.

 

He tried to think back -- Daryl hadn’t been around when Rick first came staggering to the group, hadn’t been there to see the damage and hear the story, and Rick couldn’t remember it ever mattering enough to show Daryl since. Lori had cried over it, and whether it was to grieve what had caused it or to grieve his forever ruined body, it had always made Rick feel different about his appearance. It was as if his near-death defect was something to mourn what was as opposed to indulging in what wasn’t. 

 

But here, now, he exposed his heart in the form of old bullet holes, sealed up and seared over and all Daryl’s for the taking, disfigured in body and spirit. Daryl’s fingers grazed the pale outline pulled tight, touch muted but alive against neglected skin, and Rick might’ve enjoyed the scalding sensations plummeting down his midriff if this weren’t so damn important to him.

 

“Looks like buckshot,” Daryl mumbled, facing him fully and watching in rapture while his fingertips delicately touched Rick as if he could disappear any moment. It stirred the heat fully in Rick, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Daryl had seen this before in the confines of his thoughts like Rick had in his. He clenched his fingers through Daryl’s, squeezing his hand and smiling down at him with fueled fire burning him alive pleasantly. 

 

“Yeah. Long time ago,” he nodded and captured Daryl’s gaze. “And it doesn’t change a damn thing between us, does it? Whatever you’re afraid of, Daryl…” Rick smiled down at him assuringly. “It ain’t gonna change this.”

 

Daryl seems speechless at that, and the look on his face is so trusting that Rick starts to feel like he’s melting slowly rather than burning to a crisp. It’s strange, as he knows even less of what to do with this new sensation than he does with carnal lust, but soon it doesn’t matter because Daryl’s yanked him down to meet his demanding mouth. Rick let them immolate together before he reached for Daryl’s button, this time without interruption, and unfastened it with fumbling fingers. It came apart slowly, and once at the last button, Rick pulled away from the kiss to spread the shirt open, Daryl watching him intently as the fabric fell to each side to lay his chest bare.

 

Rick knew his face alluded too much -- there are scars, of course, interrupting lean muscle and intermingled with various tattoos, and he always knew Daryl had been hurt before, but to see the overabundant aftermath made something visceral spark in him. But he said nothing, knowing this wasn’t the time or the place, if there ever was one, and slid his hand along Daryl’s chest to push away the fabric. As he cleared off the shirt, Rick consciously grazed a pert nipple lightly with his palm and the tense body underneath him arched into his touch in answer, wrenching a desperate cry from somewhere deep in Daryl’s chest. Daryl quickly cut the urgent outburst short by shoving his hand to his teeth and biting down on the heel of it, imprinting his need and his embarrassment into his skin roughly. Rick watched him with a surmounting fervor fueling his wanton curiosity, and only Daryl could satiate this.

 

Without thinking, he laced Daryl’s fingers into his and withdrew his hand from his lips to replace it with an open-mouthed kiss. Rick’s own nipples had never been sensitive enough to give much mind to, but feeling how Daryl responded to being touched in such new, tender places had him greedy for more. 

 

There was no shame this time when Rick found that same sensitive skin, pulled tight into a hard nub for his fingers to circle like a radial point, as if it were a bullseye of nerve endings hotwired to Daryl’s bucking hips and crumbling composure. Daryl openly moaned into the safety of Rick’s mouth, halting and heightened with ecstasy as Rick played with one nipple, and then the other, all while Daryl quivered under his touch. Rick felt the frenetic energy in his body plunging to his groin, rousing his dick with the thrill of what could follow, and had to pull back to take a shaky breath. 

 

Daryl looked lost for a moment, as if he’d come to rely upon Rick’s mouth to keep him quiet and had forgotten of the aim of this entirely. 

 

“Turn over,” Rick exhaled, trying to quell everything in him that begged him to keep going. 

 

At his words, Daryl went pale and seemed to nearly swoon when he sat up on his elbows, and Rick chuckled. “For yer massage,” he clarified, pressing a kiss to Daryl’s head. That warm smoulder had returned in full and Rick’s heart thudded in time with it as he helped Daryl onto his back, once again being mindful of Daryl’s sprained ankle. 

 

Once settled, Rick had to swallow away those tidal wave emotions at the state of Daryl’s back. Scars stretched from shoulder blade to hip bone, crisscrossing his body with what looked like whippings, beatings, even old brands. Rick’s past experience helped him recognize knife wounds, cut with intent in the blade, and he ran the palm of his hand down Daryl’s spine widely, wanting to touch as much of him as possible. The flex of Daryl’s muscles rising up to meet his palm welcomingly left him lightheaded for more than just his growing appetite, and Rick enjoyed the feel of Daryl’s skin as he explored with both hands.

 

There was no oil or hot towels or anything Rick had seen associated with massages, but there was something far more intimate about the heady skin on skin feel of Daryl wired tightly beneath him. If he felt lost, it was only for a moment, because the tension was practically visible cabled through Daryl’s back in thick muscles and ropes of pulled tendons, all circuited rigidly across his patchwork skin.

 

Rick followed the thick current of energy folded in his shoulder blades, weaving through his spine, sewn into Daryl’s body after decades of hardship and trauma. His touch was gentle at first, getting to know the parapet seams of Daryl’s scarred skin like a mesh of old memories he’d never know, until Rick slowly began to massage Daryl’s back with brazen fingers. 

 

He started at the slope of Daryl’s bowed neck and saw that Daryl was peering at him from over his shoulder, chewing his lip raw with nerves. Rick smiled down at him and said, “Relax, Daryl.”

 

Obediently, Daryl nodded and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath that swelled his chest, and Rick could feel the shiver that wracked Daryl’s body following his hands as they massaged as his neck. A small gasp parted Daryl’s wet lips and his face took on an enraptured expression, eyes shut tight and hair tossed across the bed sheets, and the sight held Rick’s breath, captivated. 

 

A churning hunger urged Rick on when muscle twitches sparked beneath his fingertips, coming to life the harder he pressed into Daryl, like his touch summoned a flux of primed static ready to detonate. He kneaded the muscles in Daryl’s shoulders until they loosened and plied beneath his hands. Daryl curled at his touch, almost catlike, and Rick sucked in a shaky breath when he noticed Daryl biting down on the duvet stubbornly, similarly to how he had with his own hand to keep himself quiet. Rick dropped his hands lower down Daryl’s back, over his ribs and lats, and felt Daryl stretch himself out for Rick, unfolding himself for him whether he intended to or not, and Rick tried to quell the pounding need between his legs. With Daryl’s hips tucked snugly beneath him, Rick knew there was no way Daryl couldn’t feel him half hard against his ass. 

 

Rick sucked another breath in and held it when Daryl uncurled to grasp at his headrest to keep himself still, knuckles white with whatever Daryl was holding back. It pulled his muscles tight beneath his skin again, shifting his position and changing the flow of muscles for Rick to touch, and arched his lower back into a tight dip beneath Rick’s hands. Little divots appeared above his pants like dimples in the small of his back, framing the contours of his hip bones, and Rick ran his fingers hungrily along the sensitive skin, no longer gentle. 

 

His needy touch brought Daryl’s hips jerking up against him, and an unhinged groan escaped the muffling bedspread lodged securely between his teeth. Rick choked on a sound threatening to escape his own throat, and pushed the palm of his hand into Daryl’s tight back again, lower muscles twitching his hips into Rick all over again. 

 

It wasn’t much longer that Rick’s touch had Daryl grinding his pelvis against the mattress, arching into Rick’s hands, then thrusting forward to rut against the bed. It was both teasingly surreal and painfully present, looking beneath his legs and watching Daryl come apart at the seams, rubbing himself off against the bed sheets while Rick massaged him all over. It was overpowering, like a strong accelerant fueling his burning desire until it eclipsed everything else. Daryl didn’t seem to pay any mind to holding back anymore, raising his hips to press back against Rick’s groin then grinding himself into the bed, over and over until Rick’s bruising grip against Daryl’s waist was no longer self-restrictive but anchoring. He let Daryl buck his pert ass against him for another moment, watching with a carnal glower simmering with barely contained lust, before yanking Daryl’s hips back upwards to press against him. 

 

Rick felt everything in him come alive when he thrust back into Daryl, grinding his erection against the curve of Daryl’s ass and hearing Daryl gasp again at the demanding shove. He held him there, hitching Daryl’s hips in place and pinning him into the bed to stoke the friction between them, build the pressure in his dick, throbbing against Daryl’s flank lusciously.

 

“Rick,” Daryl groaned out, still clenching at the headrest and laying himself out for Rick’s rolling hips tightly.

 

Beads of sweat were gathering at Daryl’s neck and Rick leaned down to taste them, to taste Daryl, and licked up against the goosebump skin he had just been massaging. Daryl shuddered and bucked back against him, mere fabric away from everything Rick needed right now, but Rick settled for pounding his twitching cock into the dip of Daryl’s jeans, sliding up and down with a dizzying rhythm echoing in his ears, his veins. 

 

By this point, Rick had long since moved from kneading out knotted muscles in Daryl’s back, foregoing the massage as Daryl wound up tightly beneath him. He was bent over Daryl, all thoughts of the massage forgotten, glancing the other man’s lust-salted skin with his swirling tongue and sucking at his shoulders roughly while Daryl lurched beneath him in response. When his teeth grazed the man’s neck and bit down on the supple skin, Daryl moaned again, voice like breathless gravel in a torrent of sensuality. Acting only on instinct, Rick coaxed Daryl’s knees apart with his own and hooked his legs beneath Daryl’s, fastening him to him, restraining Daryl’s hips to the mattress firmly so he could do nothing more than twinge for pleasure. Rick used his hold on Daryl for better leverage as he slid his hand beneath Daryl’s stomach, dipping even further until he could cup Daryl’s crotch. 

 

Daryl jerked against him in pure reaction, meeting the enveloping warmth of Rick’s hand helplessly and crying out. “Rick!” It was muffled as Daryl buried himself into the duvet, face flushed and mouth open breathlessly.

 

Even through his jeans, Rick could feel the thick outline of Daryl’s crotch throbbing thickly in his hand, and Rick groaned heavily into the crook of Daryl’s shoulder. His own cock was leaking in response, at the sharp cognizance of the situation, and he pressed harder against Daryl’s backside until the pressure peaked with the rhythm. Daryl was thrusting jointly with the small amount of give Rick allowed him, riding against the pulse of Rick’s bucking hips grinding against his, and Rick didn’t even both to stroke Daryl’s dick. Breathless, Daryl jerked himself off with Rick’s fist, rutting against his hand fervently, and Rick began to feel his own pleasure cresting behind his abdomen, pooling somewhere familiar like a precursor. 

 

“Christ, Daryl,” Rick whispered into Daryl’s sweat-drenched hair, knowing what was coming and feeling the length of him flush with his own shirtless body shudder. Daryl sweaty, erect, calling his name from beneath him was a thing of his fantasies, and seeing it, smelling it, feeling it now was pushing him so close to the edge that he could sense it building up in a blaze.

 

Rick chased that boding warmth running down the length of his body to crown at the contact they made, ass to groin, rubbing against the friction and stoking that heat until Rick seized it all at once, clenching up from whirling head to curling toes. It spilled from his body in hot waves, one after another wracking his body and pressing him into Daryl as he came against him, biting down against his shoulder to stop the shouting groan from tearing through him. It was overwhelming and exhausting, his forceful orgasm depleting everything he was into now-stained pants as he leaned into Daryl. He noted the angry red bite marks indented across Daryl’s shoulder, and immediately set kisses to each one, humming weakly.

 

“It’s okay,” Daryl whispered to him, but his words were nearly posed as a question as he tilted his head to the side to catch Rick’s raw expression. 

 

He was speechless, pants thick with his chafed embarrassment at the situation, and pressed his forehead to Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl had long since frozen in place, so Rick quickly removed his hand from Daryl’s still throbbing erection and untangled their legs, feeling a pang of shame that he hadn’t paid any mind to whether or not he had been hurting Daryl. Clenching his jaw, Rick pushed himself up and separated their sweaty bodies, welcoming the unforgiving chill of the midnight air swallowing him whole. He hadn’t had stained pants and pink cheeks in as long as he could remember, and Rick opened his mouth to say something, anything.

 

“Helluva massage,” he swallowed, looking down at Daryl still lain out and grasping at his headrest. The candles had burned completely down to the wicks and the melted candle wax was already starting to solidify by now.

 

Daryl nodded stiffly, and simply said, “Yeah.”

 

Rick couldn’t see his face, couldn’t interpret his body language, but he still knew what a hard-on meant, at least, and ventured to ask, “If ya want, reckon I can… Ya know.” Whether Daryl did or didn’t know, he remained quiet, so Rick tried again. “Daryl, I can take care of that, if you’ll let me.”

 

The other man was stiff all over, despite the previously distracted-from massage, and there was a sinking feeling that he had somehow embarrassed himself when Daryl shook his head once. “Think Carol’ll be comin’ in from the night watch, soon,” Daryl muttered in a blatant excuse, still not looking at him. Rick can’t see his face, but he can see that Daryl’s ears were a bright shade of pink, shoulders pulled tight, and that’s when he understood what Daryl was doing, and smiled slightly, still groggy from his orgasm. 

 

This was all still new to Daryl, unlike anything he’d ever done before, Rick noted. It’s not like Rick didn’t want to pleasure the other man, needless to say, but if Daryl was still putting up a front to hide behind, Rick knew he’d have to stay patient before he could try this again, before he could bring Daryl to that same completion. 

 

Careful of Daryl’s ankle, cringing at the state of his pants, Rick slowly untangled himself from Daryl and slid from the bed. Daryl seemed to shrink into the bedsheets as Rick bent down to kiss his still-sweat drenched head, stroking his hair and saying, “If you change yer mind, I’m just a few cells away.” Daryl’s ears went pink again and Rick slipped away past the curtains with a smile, allowing Daryl whatever privacy he’d need tonight and reminding himself to go find the painkillers for the hunter tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for any of the grammatical errros or any formatting problems or whatever other junk I do to my finished chapters. I'm exhausted at 4am and buzzed off of cheap whine and I don't even know what real words are supposed to look like anymore. Really, I don't even know if this is good, and I hate that I'm posting it without being super sure that it's good. If it's not good, I'm so sorry. 
> 
> Just as a heads up, I'm moving next Saturday, and it's this big huge ordeal, and I'm even sorrier, but there's a chance I won't be able to post next Saturday. I'm still going to work my ass off to post in a timely manner, especially since next chapter is a scary spooky plot chapter, but there's still that chance. You'll be the first to know when I can manage it. 
> 
> But this was, like, my first posted sexy time moment between Rick and Daryl. And I'm sooo nervous for how it will be received, especially since I had other ideas for this scene. If it's so bad, I'm really sorry. But no matter what, I hope you enjoy, and I promose to be better. Happy Halloween!

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first piece I've ever written for leisure, most definitely my first fanfiction, and my thanks and affection go out to redneckwoman for helping me with this. :) I really look forward to posting more, and I hope you all look forward as well. Criticism, feedback, or anything really is appreciated. Thank you so much (Assuming this was actually posted properly)!


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